A Tale of NeverEnding Love
by Soledad
Summary: The complete story of Glorfindel's life. WIP. Ch 3: The tale continues after the siege of Rivendell. Meet Oromë.
1. Prologue: The Lord of the Golden Flower

A TALE OF NEVER-ENDING LOVE  
THE COMPLETE STORY OF GLORFINDEL  
told by Soledad Cartwright  
  
Disclaimer:  
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. Only the Lady Aquiel belongs to me.  
  
Rating: PG - 13, for violence, character death and heavy angst stuff.  
  
  
INTRODUCTION: WHY GLORFINDEL?  
  
Now, I'm well aware of the fact that every self-respecting reader hates introductions. Me, too, actually. If an author can't explain her intentions *through* her story, introductions are usually little help.  
And yet I ask you to stay with me in this particular case.  
  
This is the story of ''Glorfindel who dwells in Elrond's house'', as Aragorn introduced him to the hobbits near the Ford of Bruinen. Have you ever asked just *why* he dwelt in Imladris and what exactly was he doing here? I have been wondering about it for twenty-odd years.  
  
For me, he appeared so much more powerful than Elrond himself when I first read the books, with him being able to face all those Nazgúl and glowing white in the darkness all by himself; and so very wise, giving thoughtful counsel concerning the Ring during Elrond's Council, even if it couldn't be followed at the end.  
  
I got very curious just who this Elf might be. Gandalf says of him that he is ''one of the mighty of the Firstborn. He is an Elf-Lord of a house of princes.'' There also are some hints that he might have returned from the Blessed Realm, and that this is what gives him such great power. So I decided that he must be very old, indeed, even in the terms of Elves.  
  
Years later, reading first the Unfinished Tales and then the Silmarillion, I detected with surprise that there had been another Glorfindel during the First Age: in Gondolin, the hidden kingdom of Turgon. This other Glorfindel was the Head of the House of the Golden Flower - meaning, one of the most noble people of the city -, and fell with the city, in defense of Turgon's daughter, taking a Balrog with him to death.  
  
Later even, I came to the Book of the Lost Tales, where - in Book 2 - the Fall of Gondolin and therefore the last battle of this first Glorfindel are described in great detail; so vivid and detailled, indeed, that I got completely hooked by this wonderful character.  
  
There are different opinions among fanfic writers - or even researchers -, whether the Glorfindel of Gondolin and the Glorfindel of Imladris are one and the same, for Tolkien often used the same name for different characters (see: Ecthelion, Denethor and others), though they were usually ancient Elven names given to mortal Men, ages later. On the other hand, it is established in Tolkien's cosmology, that under *very* specific circumstances one might be relieved from Mandos' Halls. This, however, is extremely rare, and always contains an important and grave errand for the person in question.  
  
When I decided to write about Glorfindel at all - which was a long-nurtured wish of mine -, I opted for the theory that the two were, indeed, one and the same - simply because a character with such a rich background and of such an extreme age offered more intriguing possibilities for me as a writer to work with. Which, of course, aroused again the question of old: What such an ancient, wise and powerful Elf was doing in Elrond's house? Why was he, who sacrificed himselt in order to save Elrond's *grandparents*, sent back from Mandos' Halls to serve their grandson? What might have been the ages-old connection between Glorfindel and Elrond's family?  
  
Then, writing ''Of Snow and Stone and Wolves'', I stumbled upon the question of Elven bonding rituals, and realized that Elves bond themselves only once, and that this bond goes on ever beyond the Sea or beyond Mandos' Halls. So I created the one-sided bonding for the purpose of my story (which otherwise wouldn't have made any sense), postulating that some Elves would be ready to bond themselves, out of deep love, without receiving the same devotion from the one they had fallen for.  
  
I made up this non-canon variety of the Elven marriage bond for Elladan, because I needed him to be utterly devoted to Minas Tirith's safety and prosperity. I was in the middle of writing that particular scene when realization hit me: I might just have found the very reason for Glorfindel's presence in Elrond's house!  
  
Now all I needed was to find the right person to be the subject of Glorfindel's undying love. It has to be someone from Elrond's lineage; and I decided to choose a female ancestor of him, for three reasons:  
  
1. There are more than enough Glorfindel slash stories floating around (few of which managed to persuade me), and I only write about m/m interaction when I feel it necessary for character development - this was not the case;  
2. I wanted someone who was closer to Glorfindel's age, to make the whole ''utter devotion'' thing more believable; and, most of all,  
3. I always longed to write a story happening during the First Age, when the Elves were a lot more powerful and on the peak of their strength and wisdom.  
  
So I chose Idril Celebrindal, the beautiful, strong-willed daughter of Turgon, King of Gondolin (who was, above all else, gifted with foresight, too), to be the subject of Glorfindel's unrequited love; for they would have made a glorious couple if not for Tuor, and she already had that ''Helen of Troy''-aspect in her, with Maeglin betraying his King and his own people to Morgoth, mostly for the possession of her that had been promised to him in exchange.  
  
But when I was about to dive deep into the events of the Elder Days, I also decided to go back even further and write a complete biography on Glorfindel - much of what I have simply made up, for lack of any earlier data about him. I divided the story into chapters that tell about the different periods of his incredibly long life, starting with the Awakening of Elves at the waters of Cuiviénen and finishing the tale in Elrond's house, shortly after the Fellowship of the Ring left Rivendell. For I decided to make Glorfindel one of the very Firstborn that came to life under the light of stars and were found by the Vala Oromë the Great.  
  
Those of you who know the Silmarillion very well, might detect slight discrepancies with the events described here. That's because I mostly followed the Unfinished Tales and the Book of Lost Tales - and other writings of Tolkien, that might contain even more ancient concepts of the Great Maker. But my main sources were the abovementioned books, especially concerning Gondolin and its fall, both of which are described there in great detail.  
  
For the inner structure of this tale I chose a narrative form I've never tried before (so be merciful with me). Basically, it's about Glorfindel, sitting in the Hall of Fire in Imladris, telling a heartbroken Elladan the story of his life. Therefore - with the exception of the Prelude and the Epilogue (the latter of which will be happening after the death of King Elessar, therefore many decades later than the frame story itself) - this tale is told mainly from the POV of Glorfindel himself. Though there will be short interludes between chapters, where he discusses the events he has just told with Elladan.  
  
This means that while the tale itself would reach through all Three Ages of Middle-earth, it shall be told in mere weeks, with Glorfindel and Elladan regularly meeting in the Hall of Fire for their storytelling sessions. Whether there will be other members of Elrond's household joining them, I have not yet decided, as I'm making up the frame story as I write on. But I might grant the Lady Aquiel a cameo appearance, for I'm very fond of her.  
  
For the exact same reason, I cannot tell yet, just how long this whole tale might be at the end. The structure, as planned, should look like this:  
  
Prelude: Why Are You here?  
Chapter 1: The Making of Stars  
Chapter 2: The Coming of Elves  
Chapter 3: The Light of Aman  
Chapter 4: The Journey of the Eldar  
Chapter 5: The Great Jewels  
Chapter 6: The White Ships of Alqualondë  
Chapter 7: Crossing the Ice  
Chapter 8: Nirnaeth Arneodiad - Tears Unnumbered  
Chapter 9: The Fall of Gondolin  
Chapter 10: Return, Unexpected  
Epilogue: The Last Ship  
  
Please remember, that this is only a rough plan how the individual stories in the tale might follow, and that there certainly will be alterations. I have a rather clear vision of what I want to tell, but there always might be new ideas and sudden inspirations, and I will follow them without hesitation. For it has been my experience that at the end those make the best stories.  
  
  
Are we in agreement? Good. Now, for those who are not as well-versed in Tolkien's wonderful but extremely complex universe as the possessed elder people (of which I'm certainly one), here should stand an extended quote from ''The Lord of the Rings'', which I have chosen for the reason that it explains in a few short paragraphs just why Elrond's lineage plays such an all-important role in the history of Middle-earth.  
  
  
''Fëanor was the greatest of the Eldar in arts and lore, but also the proudest and most self-willed. He wrought the Three Jewels, the *silmarilli*, and filled them with the radiance of the Two Trees, Telperion and Laurelin, that gave light to the land of the Valar.  
  
The Jewels were coveted by Morgoth, the Enemy, who stole them, and, after destroying the Trees, took them to Middle-earth, and guarded them in his great fortress of Thangorodrim.  
  
Against the will of the Valar, Fëanor forsook the Blessed Realm and went in exile to Middle-earth, leading with him a great part of his people; for in his pride he purposed to recover the Jewels from Morgoth by force. Thereafter followed the hopeless war of the Eldar and the Edain against Thangorodrim, in which they were at last utterly defeated.  
The Edain (Atani) were three peoples of Men who, coming first to the West of Middle-earth and the shores of the Great Sea, became allies of the Eldar against the Enemy.  
  
There were three unions of the Eldar and the Edain: Lúthien and Beren; Idril and Tuor; Arwen and Aragorn. By the last, the long-sundered branches of the Half-elven were reunited and their line was restored.  
  
Lúthien Tinúviel was the daughter of King Thingol Greycloak of Doriath in the First Age, but her mother was Melian of the Valar. Beren was the son of Barahir of the First House of the Edain. Together they wrested a *silmaril* from the Iron Crown of Morgoth. Lúthien became mortal and was lost to Elven-kind. Dior was her son. Elwing was his daughter and had in her keeping the *silmaril*.  
  
Idril Celebrindal was the daughter of Turgon, king of the hidden city of Gondolin. Tuor was the son of Huor of the House of Hador, the Third House of the Edain and the most renowned in the wars with Morgoth. Eärendil the Mariner was their son.  
  
Eärendil wedded Elwing, and with the power of the *silmaril* passed the Shadows and came to the Uttermost West, and speaking as ambassador of both Elves and Men obtained the help by which Morgoth was overthrown. Eärendil was not permitted to return to mortal lands, and his ship bearing the *silmaril* was set to sail in the heavens as a star, and a sign of hope to the dwellers of Middle-earth, oppressed by the Great Enemy or his servants. The *silmarilli* alone preserved the ancient light of the Two Trees of Valinor before Morgoth poisoned them; but the other two were lost at the end of the First Age [...]  
  
The sons of Eärendil were Elros and Elrond, the *Peredhil* or Half-elven. In them alone the line of the heroic chieftains of the Edain in the First Age was preserved; and after the fall of Gil-galad, the lineage of the High-elven Kings was also in Middle-earth only represented by their descendants.  
  
At the end of the First Age the Valar gave to the Half-elven an irrevocable choice to which kindred they would belong. Elrond chose to be of the Elven-kind and became a master of wisdom. To him therefore was granted the same grace as to those of the High Elves that still lingered in Middle-earth: that when weary at last of the mortal lands they could take ship from the Grey Havens and pass into the Uttermost West; and this grace continued after the change of the world.  
  
But to the children of Elrond a choice was allso appointed: to pass with him from the circles of the world; or if they remained, to become mortal and die in Middle-earth. For elrond, therefore, all chances of the War of the Ring were fraught with sorrow.  
  
Elros chose to be of Man-kind and remain with the Edain; but a great life-span was granted to him, many times of lesser men.  
  
As a reward for their sufferings in the cause against Morgoth, the Valar, the Guardians of the World, granted the Edain a land to dwell in, removed from the dangers of Middle-earth. Most of them, therefore, set sail over Sea, westernmost of all Mortal lands. There they founded the realm of Númenor. [...]  
  
Elros was the first King of Númenor, and was afterwards known by the High-elven name Tar-Minyatur. His descendants were long-lived but mortal. Later when they became powerful they begrudged the choice of their forefather, desiring the immortality within the life of the world that was the fate of the Eldar, and murmuring against the Ban.* In this way began their rebellion which, under the evil teaching of Sauron, brought about the Downfall of Númenor and the ruin of the ancient world.''  
  
(Quoted from The Lord of the Rings III. Appendix A I. The Númenorean Kings, pp 380-382, with slight editions.)  
  
  
Those who survived the Fall of Númenor, forged the Last Alliance of Elves and Men and had finally overthrown Sauron at the end of the Second Age, though to great costs: Gil-galad, the last High King of the Eldar in Middle-earth was slain, as was Elendil, the last King of all Númenorean people. Yet his eldest son, Isildur, cut the Ring of Power off Sauron's hand in the last battle upon Dagorlad and, instead of casting it into the fire of Orodruin, where it was made, kept it as a weregild for his father and his brother.  
  
Which, of course, led to the events of the War of the Ring, that are well-known to all of us, even those who have only seen the movie.   
  
  
Now that we have cleared the basics, I only ask you to bear with me for one short piece of information (there shall be notes to each chapter anyway, so there's no need to try explaining everything in advance, right?)  
  
There were five great battles fought in Beleriand against Morgoth. Most writings of Tolkien are full of cross-references to them, but they are named either in Elvish or in English, which I myself found extremely confusing. So there you have them, numbered and labeled, with all their names (as far as they *did* have a name), for better identification.  
  
THE BATTLES OF BELERIAND  
  
1. The First Battle had no name. It was fought between King Thingol Greycloak (who was aided by the Nandor Elves of Ossiriand) and the army of Angband.  
  
2. The Second Battle was called ''Battle-under-Stars'' or ''Dagor-nuin-Giliath'' and was fought in Mithrim, after the coming of Fëanor to Middle-earth.  
  
  
3. The Third Battle was called the ''Glorious Battle'' or ''Dagor Aglareb''. For a change, it was a victorious one, due to the leadership of Fingolfin and Maedhros.  
  
4. The Fourth Battle was called ''Battle of Sudden Flame'' or ''Dagor Bragollach'' (or, sometimes, simply ''the Bragollach''),. Named thus for the partaking of Glaurung the Dragon and the Balrogs. It ended with the total loss of Dorthonion and the death of Fingolfin.  
  
  
5. The Fifth Battle was called the battle of ''Unnumbered Tears'' or ''Nirnaeth Arneodiad (also simply ''the Nirnaeth''). This was the most ruinous battle of all, where the Eldar were utterly defeated.  
  
Finally, there was the Great Battle, of course (or the War of Wrath), when - thank Eärendil's plea - a host of the Valar came to Middle-earth and Morgoth was overthrown, chained and imprisoned for ever, and the ancient world was destroyed by the wrath of the Valar, and Beleriand was swallowed by the Sea, and the Sirion, the most beautiful and beloved river of the Elves was no more.  
  
  
You still with me? How brave of you! For that you shall be rewarded - for this introduction has finally come to its and and the real story may begin.  
  
Follow me to the Prelude, which will lead us to Elrond's house, where Elladan asks Glorfindel the crucial question: Why are you here?  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
End note: Now, for *that* you will have to wait at least one or two days. I know. I'm evil. But one can write just as much on a single day while doing all the research work along with the writing. I'll update, soon. I promise.  
  
Soledad  
  
  
* Which forbid them to sail to Valinor. 


	2. Prelude: Why Are You Here?

A TALE OF NEVER-ENDING LOVE  
THE COMPLETE STORY OF GLORFINDEL  
told by Soledad Cartwright  
  
Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Rating: PG for now, but might go higher in later chapters, for violence, character death and heavy angst stuff.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
Now that I've let you in to the creative process, we can finally start. As I promised, this will be tied in with my Boromir-series, 'Fall Before Temptation'', and starts in the midst of the sixth Boromir story, ''Of Snow and Stone and Wolves''. You dont have to read that story first to understand this one, but it might help with the hints.  
  
Elladan's song was taken from ''The Lays of Beleriand'', p. 172, and was written by the Great Maker, Tolkien, himself.  
  
  
PRELUDE: WHY ARE YOU HERE?  
  
The Nine Walkers crossed the bridge of the Bruinen and wound slowly up the long steep paths that led out of the coven vale of Imladris. They passed along the guest house, and Boromir, who was marching at the rear, save Legolas, their rearguard, stole a glance at the long balcony where Elladan was standing still, unmoving and in complete silence among the lenghtening shadows of the coming night.  
  
Their eyes met for one last time, and Elladan saw the grim determination on the haggard face of his beloved - though the Man felt the loss of their departure almost as keenly as he did, Boromir's mind was already on the task before him, and his heart turned towards his city where he hoped to be returning at the end of his journey. And in that very moment Elladan understood with utter clarity that their times together, bittersweet as they might have been, were now truly, irrevocably over.  
  
Then the moment passed. The Company of the Ring continued their slow climb up the narrow stone steps that wound up the shoulder of the hills and soon melted into the shadows, invisible even for Elladan's keen Elven eyes. He sighed and left his lonely watchpost to return to his father's house. Night had just fallen, and he had some grieving to do.  
  
Yet he loathed to retreat into his own chambers. They were so full of memories, he could not bear to be alone with them.  
/In the morrow, maybe/, he promised himself, /but not tonight, not right now/.  
So he went to the only place he could think of. The only one where he would not be disturbed.  
  
The Hall of Fire stood empty and quiet as usual between two feasts. The fire was no more than a dark glow in the great hearth between the carven pillars upon either side, but Elladan would know his way among them even with his eyes tightly shut. He had spent many long seasons of his youth in this very Hall, listening to the old lays of his people, thus being the custom of Elves to share with their children the lore of their own kin. As a child, he always imagined those great pillars to be the trees of an enchanted wood, become stone by the magical songs of his ancestors. Now he knew better. It was no magic, just excellent craftmanship and great love the Elves always wrought into the work of their hands.  
  
He strolled along the wide passageway in the middle and went straight to a farther, more private niche, where one could sit almost unseen, even at times when the Hall was brightly lit and full of people: in the shadow of a pillar, where a beautifully carved, low wooden bench and a bottle of excellent feywine - only half-full - were waiting for him. This was the wery spot where he first met Boromir, and they never got to finish this very bottle of wine. Even the two cups were still standing there, just as they had left them almost six weeks ago.  
  
Elladan smiled sadly, for he knew that those items had, in truth, not been waiting there during all those weeks. Returning them to this very spot had to be Arwen's doing, the loving attention of his dear sister, who, setting aside her own grief, tried to help him dealing with his pain. Arwen had seen the two of them belonging together ere he realized it himself.  
  
/We both got too much mortal blood in our veins for our own good/, he thought ruefully, pouring himself some wine and nipping at it, deep in thought. He did not truly want to get drunk, though; he only wanted to warm his freezing soul a little.  
  
''I thought I would find you here'', a clear, ringing voice from somewhere at the other end of the Hall said. ''Ever when something is disturbing you, you seek out the solitude of this Hall.''  
  
Elaldan looked up and smiled again, this time a little relieved. He recognized that musical voice, of course. He had listened to it all his life. First as a child, in wide-eyed astonishment, then as a tormented youth, fighting the opposite urges of his dual nature, eternally grateful for the never-ending, patient attention his tutor was granting him every time he needed a listening ear, and finally, with ever-growing respect, as an adult, but still very young Elf - very young, at least, compared with Glorfindel's incredibly high age.  
  
Compared with Glorfindel, even his father, who had seen all Three Ages of Middle-earth, was but a child. No-ne knew just *how* old Glorfindel truly was, for he rarely spoke about himself, and even if he did, he only spoke of things they could learn from: of great deeds and deadly perils of ages long gone, of Kings and Queens and warriors of old that were but a myth even for Elrond and his counsellors - and of the Valar themselves whom he had been speaking to in flesh.  
  
His memories were wast and growing still like the Halls of Mandos, where he had dwelt awhile after having been slain during the Fall of Gondolin, yet he shared little of them with his pupils, the children of Elrond, whose tutoring had been entrusted to him at a very young age, aside of matters of lore, and naught about his own person. Elladan knew from his father that Glorfindel had fought alongside King Turgon in the Nirnaeth Arneodiad, ere even Eärendil was born, and that he had dwelt in the Blessed Realm longer than any one of the exiled Noldor, yet not even the Master of Imladris would - or could - tell more about him.  
  
Glorfindel walked through the middle of the empty Hall with slow, deliberate strides. As usual, he was clad in white, his undergown and heavy robe richly embroided with gold and silver, and girthed with *mithril*. His hair, open and unadorned as always, framed his noble, ageless face like molten gold... which was why he had gotten his name in the first place. His eyes were not grey like those of most Noldor, but deep indigo blue like the midnight sky - and nearly as old.  
  
''I wonder'', he spoke again with a smile that shone more in those very deep eyes than on his face, ''whether you intend to empty that bottle all by yourself or would be willing to share?''  
  
Elladan laughed quietly, winked his tutor closer to sit next to him and reached him the other cup.  
''I always shared the most hidden secrets of my heart with you, Master Glorfindel'', he said, only half-mocking, ''how could I deny you something as ordinary as a cup of wine?''  
  
Glorfindel accepted the cup, but his wise, ancient eyes never left the face of the younger Elf. He did not like what he was seeing. Elladan looked pale and haggard, his fair, narrow face almost translucent, framed by the halo of his long raven hair.  
  
''You look not well'', he said. Elladan sighed.  
''I feel not well.''  
''How *do* you feel, then?'', asked Glorfindel, still watching his face intently.  
  
''Drained'', Elladan admitted softly, ''I feel drained. Not do I regret a thing of what happened between me and the son of Denethor - save that hurtful fight we had during the Council -, yet it cost me more of my strength than I have thought it would.''  
  
''The breaking of one's heart usually *does* have this effect'', Glorfindel commented drily. ''And mortal Men can be trying, when it comes to the matters of the heart.''  
  
Elladan gave him a curious look.  
''You seem to know what you are speaking of...''  
  
''I do'', Glorfindel laughed at the face his former pupil made. ''Nay, not the in same way as *you* know about it, little one, but yes, I know a lot about heartbreaks that mortal Men could cause. 'Tis a thing that has not changed since the Elder Days.''  
  
For a little while they remained silent. Then Elladan refilled their cups and decided to risk a question that he had wanted to ask the ancient Elf ever since his early childhood.  
''Glorfindel'', he began, ''would you allow me to ask a question that has been bothering me since I have known you?''  
  
Glorfindel laughed; it sounded like silver bells in a moonlit night... like childhood memories returning unexpectedly.  
''Since you have restrained yourself from asking for nearly three thousand years - which is respectable from someone that young as you are -, I believe I shall grant you this small wish of yours. What do you want to know this badly?''  
  
Elladan hesitated a little, not knowing how to voice his question without sounding either childish or rude. He regretted not having spoken about it with his twin; Elrohir had always been better with words. Then he shrugged in defeat and asked straight out:  
''Why are you here?''  
  
Glorfindel seemed genuinely surprised by his inquiry.  
''You mean not this Hall, I deem?'', he said. Elladan shook his head.  
  
''Nay, I do not. I was wondering... ever since Imladris has been built, you have dwelt here. Yet you are not of our line - and you certainy are not one of Father's subjects. Still, you dwell here, follow his orders of your free will, though you are so much older than he is and your wisdom cannot be even measured by his... why do you stay with us?''  
  
''My ties to your line reach far back to the Elder Days'', Glorfindel answered simply, having fully recovered from his surprise.  
  
''That I do know'', replied Elladan. ''You have been one of the captains and most trusted friends of Turgon, King of Gondolin, the father of my grandfather's mother. Yet he had fallen with his city, and you were slain, and Idril and Tuor fled to the Uttermost West...''  
  
''That they did'', Glorfindel agreed, and a flicker of some old pain marred his noble features for a moment, ''and I dwelt in Mandos' Halls for a long time - as time is counted in Middle-earth. For in the Realm of Twilight, there is not time... just silence and solitude - and the pondering over the glorious and terrible deeds of the fallen ones, over the battles won and the battles lost, over friendships and animosities and lost loves in a past long gone... 'Tis a realm of fading shadows and never-ending memories.''  
  
He shivered visibly, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes now, deeper than the Sea itself, and all of a sudden he looked old, very old, older even than the very roots of the mountains Imladris was built upon.  
  
Elladan shifted uncomfortably, regeretting already that he had came forth with his foolish question at all, cursing his own curiosity. The last thing he wanted was to cause paint this gentle, ancient soul that had often been his only comfort in times of inner torment.  
  
''Yet you have been relieved from Mandos' care'', he finally said, and Glorfindel shook off the torturous memories and smiled, and his face was youthful again, and fearless, and full of joy, just as it had been in all those centuries Elladan had known him.  
  
''That I have'', he said, almost merrily. ''Am I right to guess that you wish to know *why* I was sent back?''  
  
''To tell the truth... nay'', Elladan replied thoughtfully. ''I would wish to learn very much, though, why you have been sent *here*? Why Father's house? 'Tis a great honour for us that you dwell under his roof, but why have you been sent? One does not escape from Mandos' Halls for naught.''  
  
'''Tis very true'', Glorfindel nodded, ''yet I do believe that you might found the reason in your own heart, little one. You have just bound yourself to an other, without hope for him giving you the same devotion, knowing fully that your bond would go on beyond the Sea and Mandos' Halls - or, in your case, beyond Death itself. Do you think you were the first one to pledge yourself this way? Giving the greates gift an Elf could give, without receiving the same?''  
  
Elladan glared at him with the same wide-eyed astonishment he used to look with when he was but a small child.  
''You were - are - bound to one of our line?''  
  
''I am'', Glorfindel affirmed with a slight nod and a half-smile, ''and not even Mandos' Halls could keep me from the fulfilling of my oath, sworn by invoking the Name of Ilúvatar, the One Above All. As long as one of your line remains in Middle-earth, Elven or mortal, I shall remain with you. To teach you, guide you, protect you - and die for you a second time, should the need arise. For thus I have vowed to Idril Celebrindal, the fairest maiden that even the eyes of the Valar have seen since the shaping of Arda - save the Lady Undómiel perhaps, who inherited much of her far-seeing wisdom and her strong will.''  
  
''So... you pledged yourself to my great-grandmother?'' *That* took a moment to sink in. ''And she has chosen Tuor, a mortal Man, over *you*?''  
  
''Just as you have chosen the son of Denethor, over all the fair maidens of the Eldar'', Glorfindel countered, smiling. ''We cannot choose whom we fall in love with. You of all people should know that.''  
  
Elladan nodded, slowly, thoughtfully.  
''That is why you always treated us as if we were your own children'', he realized. ''If not for Tuor, I could be your great-grandson now... how strange.''  
  
''Strange, indeed'', Glorfindel agreed, ''yet I could not love you and your siblings - or even your father - more deeply, even if you were born from my loins... mayhap even less. For when I look at you, I always can find in your faces something of *her*, whom I loved more than anything, even life itself. In a way, you are dear for my old heart even more than you were if you were my own.''  
  
''Did you see her again, in the Blessed Realm?'' Elladan asked, suddenly very curious again. But Glorfindel only shook his head in sorrow.  
  
''Nay... 'tis not how things happen when one returns from Mandos' care. I was slain and buried at the Cristhorn, the Eagles' Cleft, south the fallen city of Gondolin, and lay there for uncounted years. My body of old was broken and long gone at the time when I was sent back; I had to be clad in a new one for my return. Coming back from Mandos in this husk gave me powers far beyond the understanding even of Elves - yet it also sets me apart from every living thing in Middle-earth. There is no-one else of my kind under the sun, save perhaps the Dark Lord, but his powers come from the Shadow and are evil, entirely.''  
  
''I remember and old and fragmented song about your last battle, that I heard in Lórien once'', Elladan frowned, trying to call forth the ill-remembered, strangely-formed verse of the Silvan folk; then, in a soft and low voice, he began to sing:  
  
Lo! The flame of fireand fierce hatred  
engulfed Gondolinand its glory fell,  
its tapering towersand its tall rooftops  
were laid all lowand its leaping fountains  
made no music moreon the mount of Gwareth,  
and its whitehewn wallswere whispering ash.  
Túr, the Earthbornwas tied in battle  
from the wrack and ruina remnant led  
women and childrenand wailing maidens  
and wounded menof the withered folk  
down the path unproventhat pierced the hillside,  
neath Tumladin he led themto the leaguer of hills  
that rose up ruggedas ranged pinnacles  
to the north of the vale.There the narrow way  
of Cristhorn was cloven,the Cleft of Eagles,  
through the midmost mountains.And more is told  
in lays and in legendand lore of others  
of that veary wayof the wandering folk:  
how the waifs of Gondolinoutwitted Melko,  
vanished o'er the valeand vanquished the hills,  
how Glorfindel the Goldenin the gap of the Eagles  
battled with the Balrogand both were slain:  
one like flash of firefrom fangéd rock,  
one like bolted thunderblack was smitten  
to the dreadful deepdigged by Thornsir...  
  
His voice trailed off uncertainly.  
''I cannot remember more'', he said, ashamed. ''A strange verse it was, full of names in the Silvan tongue... even Elrohir had great pains learning it.''  
  
''Ai, the most stubborn and haughty Tree Children and their clumsy, old-fashioned songs'', laughed Glorfindel quietly. ''You have to be at least part Wood-Elf to be able to learn the ways of their singing properly. I knew not that even the Silvan folk made songs about that fight, but I can guess why they were so impressed: they fear the Balrogs more than any other horrors of the Enemy. Fire does not become their beloved trees.''  
  
''Is it not...'', Elladan hesitated. ''Is it not disturbing to hear other people sing about your own death?''  
  
''At first it was'', Glorfindel shrugged, ''But I had nearly two ages to get used to it. Given enough time, it becomes a lot less unsettling.''  
  
''Father, too, had seen all Three Ages of Middle-earth'', said Elladan, shivering a little when imagining such incredible amount of time, ''yet you are so much older than him. I wish I could hear the tale of all your dealings, if only one time.''  
  
''A long and sorrowful tale it is'', Glorfindel replied, his voice deepening. ''Are you certain that you want to hear it?''  
  
Elladan nodded eagerly, hardly daring to believe that he could have his long-nurtured, secret wish granted.  
''I am *very* certain.''  
  
Glrofindel thought about it for a moment. He did not really wish to walk along the ever-growing halls of his memories again - he did that enough when he dwelt in Mandos' care, and it was no pleasant time -, yet he was worried about Elladan's freshly-broken heart, fearing that inspite of having chosen the Doom of Men, Elrond's eldest might still fade away from grief over his unrequited and finally lost love.  
  
The young Elf certainly showed first signs of that unfortunate weekness that ran so deep in his line, and the joy over having this old wish of his granted, might prove helpful. Also, the life - the *lives* - of Glorfindel were long and rich enough for their tale serving as a welcome distraction, if told properly, and who else could have told a proper tale if not him who had heard the music of the Valer themselves?  
  
''Very well'', he gave in with an exaggerated sigh; ''when could I deny you anything? You always had your way with me too easily, little one.''  
  
''Yes, I can remember Father complaining about you spoiling me'', Elladan agreed, mischief twinkling in his eyes.  
  
/You always were so much like *him*, little one/, Glorfindel thought sadly, /and if *she* could not deny him anything, not even herself, how could I have denied you the small wishes of a tormented child?/  
  
But out loud he only said:  
''Yet you shall not receive this gift tonight. A long tale this is, as I said, and one I am only willing to tell once. You shall go and ask your father and your siblings whether they, too, wish to hear it.''  
  
''And if they wish not?'' Elladan asked, joy already fading away from his disturbingly thin face. Glorfindel felt a dull pain in his chest, and his ancient heart went out for the younger Elf.  
  
''Whether they wish to join us or not, I gave you my promise'', he said. ''We shall meet again, here, in the Hall of Fire... and that more than once, for this tale is longer, indeed, than you can possibly imagine.''  
  
''How long?'' intrigued Elladan with almost child-like awe, the light of the dying fire reflecting in his clear, wide-open eyes.  
  
''*Very* long'', said Glorfindel solemnly. ''If we meet here once in every seven nights, mayhap the season of Hísimë shall be long enough for me to finish it.''  
  
''That long..'', Elladan whispered, his eyes filling with fear and wonder. Glorfindel nodded gravely.  
''That long, little one. You still want to hear it?''  
  
Elladan took several deep breaths. The growing length of time always contained a strange enchantment for him, but since he had made his choice and decided to accept the fate of mortal Men, a certain fear joined with his awe, knowing that his choice cannot be unmade, and that from now on *his* time in Middle-earth was limited. There would be no uncounted centuries for him to learn the secrets of Arda any more. His life would be long, many time of lesser Men, as it had been Elros', but eventually, he would die.  
  
Thus he had chosen, freely and out of love for Arda and for a Man who could not love him the same way, and he did not regret it. But the fear that had finally led to the Fall of Númenor in the heart of Elros' descendants, now dwelt in his heart as well. And he knew he needed the support of his tutor, now more than ever, to conquer it, or else he, too, would fall.  
  
''Yes, I still want to hear it'', he answered queitly. ''I have to put the time that still remains me to good use.'' Seeing Glorfindel's stricken face, he added with a faint smile: ''No regrets. I told you. But from now on I have to learn to count time differently. Since it is no more unlimited, time itself has won a whole new meaning for me... 'tis not easy to adapt.''  
  
''Nay'', Glorfindel nodded in deep understanding, having witnessed Elros going through the same torture a whole age earlier, till the first King of Númenor had found his way in a world that became a place utterly different for him, ''it is not. Yet you shall learn and you shall get used to it. Elros did. You are no less than him. And you do have a new purpose to keep you going on.''  
  
Elladan nodded mutely, yet his face paled even more, and his eyes were still wide with unmistakable fear.  
''Glorfindel'', he murmured, ''I am frightened...''  
  
''We all are frightened at one time or another, little one'', the ancient Elf replied, taking his cold, trembling hand in his warm ones. '''Tis like the moment of a new birth for you.. or more like the Awakening under the stars had been for our kind, at the still waters of Cuiviénen - a very powerful experience, one that would shape you for the rest of your life. Be not ashamed; being born is always hurtful, but it is only the beginning.''  
  
Elladan froze at these words.  
''The *Awakening*...? Then you are...''  
  
''One of the Firstborn, yes'', Glorfindel nodded; ''of the very first ones, to be more accurate. Yet 'tis a tale I shall be telling you tomorrow eve. Now you have to rest.''  
  
''I cannot go back to my chambers'', Elladan murmured in despair. ''Leave me not now, I beg you! 'Tis too much, I cannot bear it alone.''  
  
''Nor have you to, little one'', Glorfindel gently forced the younger Elf to lay down on the low bench and laid the dark head upon his lap as he would do when Elladan was a young child still. ''Here. Have no fear, for I am with you and I shall keep the Shadows from your sleep. Over me, they have no power, for I have known Death and it frightens me no more. Sleep now. Soon, you, too, shall conquer your fears and then they cannot reach you any more, either.''  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The sunrise of the following day found Glorfindel in the same posture: sitting on the bwnch, the head of his former pupil upon his lap, the bottle of wine empty on his right. So did Elrond, too, who knew his firstborn well enough to know where to look for him, and felt grateful for the presence of Glorfindel. Ever since Elladan grew old enough to feel the pain of his dual nature, the ancient Elf had been a haven for him - one Elrond himself could never be, in spite of his honest labours.  
  
''How is he faring?'', the Lord of Imladris asked quietly. He, too, noticed the change in his son, and it filled his heart with fear and anguish, having gone through the same grief and almost dying of it.  
  
Glorfindel sighed.  
''His heart is broken, his flesh yearns for a touch he shall devour no more, and his own choice frightens him greatly. How, do you believe, *is* he faring?''  
  
Elrond nodded in understanding.  
''I am grateful you have found him before me. I should have come earlier, but...''  
  
''Your heart, too, is deeply troubled'', Glorfindel interrupted him gently. ''Too much has happened in such short a time - even you need a while to cope with it.''  
  
''How very true'', it was Elrond's turn to sigh deeply. ''Tis bitter, Glorfindel. Thrice blessed I was called for my children, and rightly so, for they are brave and quick-witted and so very beautiful - yet like a tree bereft of leaves and fruit I am now. First I lost Celebrían to the servants of the Enemy, then I lost my daughter to the King of Men, and now I am losing my firstborn, too, to someone who does not even love him. Always have I put my duites forth, even before my own flesh and blood, and what for? For a case that had been forced upon our line long ere I was even born.''  
  
''One cannot fight fate'', Glorfindel said gently. ''I of all people should know that - and so should you.''  
  
''I do know that'', Elrond replied sadly, ''yet that knowledge would not give me back what I have lost. Not my parents, not my wife, and even less my children. Heavily lays the weight of the inevitable upon my heart. For all I wanted for my children was happiness...''  
  
''They *are* happy'', said Glorfindel, ''yet bittersweet is the taste of true love, for it always mingles true bliss with pain. Would you have it any other way? So has it been since the dawn of days and so it remains till darkness shall fall. 'Tis better to taste some bitterness with the bliss than never taste the blessings of love at all. And *you* are not bereft of the fruit of your loins completely, my friend. You still have Elrohir, who shall give you heirs with the Lady Aquiel, for sure. And you were given the rare gift of a second great love that healed your heart after Celebrían's departure. You should remember this and thank the Valar for their grace.''  
  
''But who... or what shall heal *his* heart?'' Elrond looked down at the tormented face of his son, so open and vulnerable in the deep slumber Glorfindel's power forced upon him - and so very, very young. Too young to suffer this much.  
  
The ancient Elf caressed Elladan's raven-dark tresses with the gentle fingers of a loving father and sighed.  
''He is not out of peril yet, 'tis true. Still, I have hope, for he shows curiosity for other things again - others than his own suffering.''  
  
''What things?'', asked Elrond with renewed hope. Glorfindel smiled.  
''He asked me after the reason of my presence in your house and wrought a promise from me to tell him the long tale of my life.''  
  
''He did?'' Elrond was surprised, even a little envious. ''You never told *me* about your deeds and wanderings. What little I know I have learnt from others... or from the old lays of Beleriand.''  
  
''You always were too proud to ask'', Glorfindel replied playfully. ''The stubbornness of mortal blood in your veins, no doubt.'' They both laughed, quietly, not to wake Elladan; then Glorfindel added: ''But you are welcome to join us, you or any one of your family. I only entrust this tale to those who are of your line, yet I do believe that it would be helpful for Elladan to spend the long nights of Hísimë with his family.''  
  
''You are wise, as always'', Elrond nodded. ''What should we do with him? He needs to return to his own chambers, for there shall be people coming here, soon.''  
  
''I think not that his own chambers would be the right place for him'', Glorfindel carefully gathered the sleeping young Elf in his strong arms and stood. ''I shall take him to my guest room. There he could rest undisturbed, and I can watch over him.''  
  
''That might be best'', Elrond agreed. ''We shall see us after sunset, then''.  
''After sunset'', Glorfindel affirmed. ''And see to it that we have some wine. Telling a long tale always makes me thirsty.''  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
End note:  
Originally, I planned it to be private storytelling session between Elladan and Glorfindel, but the ancient Elf wanted full family reunions, and how am I to argue with him? In the first chapter we finally start with at the very beginning of time. 


	3. Chapter 1: The Making of Stars

A TALE OF NEVER-ENDING LOVE  
THE COMPLETE STORY OF GLORFINDEL  
told by Soledad Cartwright  
  
Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Rating: PG for now, but might go higher in later chapters, for violence, character death and heavy angst stuff.  
  
Author's notes:  
The parts of Elven lore told here are based partially on ''The Silmarillion'', partially on ''The Lost Road'', a collection of Tolkien's writings considering his own universe. There are slight alterations, though.  
The Elvish verse at the beginning is actually Galadriel's parting song (more precisely, the middle part of it), sung in ''The Fellowship of the Ring''. The hymn of Elbereth is taken from ''The Lord of the Rings'', too, where it is sung several times.  
  
Thanks to all people who fought themselves through the Introduction and were still determined enough to read the Prelude. Now, this one is still a bit information-heavy, but in the next part it is going to be a lot more personal. I promise.  
  
  
CHAPTER 1: AWAKENING UNDER THE STARS  
  
PART ONE: THE MAKING OF THE STARS  
  
During daytime, Glorfindel tapped deeper into the power that was in him to make Elladan sleep till sunset, for he saw how badly the young Elf needed some peaceful rest. He only left Elladan's side for a short hour, asking Elrohir to watch over his twin; for he, too, needed some sort of rest and refreshment ere the long night of storytelling began. He went down to the bath of Elrond's house, built upon a hot spring, and soaked blissfully in the large stone basin, letting all worries and tiredness sicker out from his limbs.  
  
When he came back to his chambers, Elladan began to awake, looking much better than the eve before. Glorfindel sent the twins, too, to the bath and retired to the balcony of his bedchamber to watch the night falling. This was his most favoured hour of the day. Unlike most Elves, the darkness did not frighten him, not even after the coming of the Shadow, and he never missed to greet the upcoming of Varda's stars - the very first thing his ancient eyes had seen from the world.  
  
There he stood, watching the stars' silver flames gleaming upon the dark velvet of the skies and listening to the distant music of the many waterfalls of the dale, and he undestood for the first time, that not his oath, sworn to fair Idril two whole Ages ago, was the only thing that kept him in this place. Whether at will or by chance, Elrond had chosen for his home a valley that was the place where the Elves awoke, very much alike.  
  
For his part, Glorfindel could never imagine a place more beautiful than Imladris. Not even the land of the Valar beyond the Sea, which was fair beyond imagination, yet lacked the likeness to his birthplace - if the way he came to this world could have been called birth.  
  
  
An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo  
ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë  
ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë  
ar sindanóriello caita mornië  
i falmalinnar imbe met, ar hísië  
untúpa Calciryo míri oialë,  
  
he sang softly in the Ancient Tongue, which had been his first, the very one he had helped to shape, and which was no more spoken, no even among Elves, unless they were sharing the matters of ancient lore. For no-one else but him was it still something *alive* - for all those who had once spoken it were either in Mandos' never-ending Halls or had passed over the Sea. Its vast richness now became unchanging: precious and beautiful like polished jewels, but just as lifeless.  
  
Glorfindel shook his head in mild dismay towards himself. He came out to devour the beauty of Varda's stars and to refresh his memories of the beginning of days, not to wall in self-pity. This was a fate he had accepted when he was sent back to Middle-earth; even if he had felt regret, it would have been too late.  
  
Yet he regretted naught. Dwelling in this awesome place and watching over Idril's progeny filled his heart with joy and gave his life purpose. What could he have expected more? Not even the lights of Valinor shone brighter for him than the trusting eyes of those he took under his wings such a long time ago.  
  
He smiled again and left the balcony. It was time to join his young charges, who, no doubt, were waiting impatiently for the tale to begin.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The Hall of Fire was dimly lit when he entered, though the fire was cracking merrily in the great hearth. Elrond sat in his usual seat, yet he seemed more in peace than earlier on that day, and his hair was unbraided, and he did not wear the silver circlet, the sign of his office, either.  
  
On his side, both left and right, his children were sitting in eager anticipation, and even the Lady Aquiel had joined them, her golden hair glowing reddish in the firelight. There stood a small table in their midst, loaded with cups and several bottles of the best wine from Elrond's cellar, and even some food, should the night grow long. Straight across the table an empty seat was waiting for Glorfindel.  
  
''By Elbereth, I never thought I would face such an audience'', the ancient Elf smiled and took the seat prepared for him.  
  
''Not every night do we have the pleasure to hear a tale of the beginning of the days'', the Master of Imladris countered, and there was an eager twinkling in his eyes that Glorfindel could not remember to have seen before. Ever. For, to his regret, he did not know Elrond as a child, having returned to Middle-earth shortly before the end of the First Age, when both of Eärendil's sons were already mature adults.  
  
The ancient Elf laughed.  
''Nay, not the beginning of days, I fear'', he said. ''Not even *my* age can be measured with that of the Valar. Small wonder that both Elves and Men thought them to be Gods upon their awakening.'' He paused, thinking. ''Now, where shall I begin?''  
  
''With the making of the stars'', Arwen suggested, reaching him a cup of wine. Glorfindel accepted the cup with a thankful nod and smiled.  
  
''Who else than the Lady Undómiel, Evenstar of her people, would have thought of a better thing to begin with? Well then. I presume, you all know the tale of Illuin and Ormal, the mighty lamps of the Valar, wrought by the hands of Aulë at the prayer of Yavanna for the lighting of Middle-earth amidst the encircling sea?''  
  
The others nodded as one and Elrohir answered for all of them.  
''You taught us well.''  
  
''Then you know, too, how Melkor, whom we call Morgoth, the Great Enemy, came forth suddenly from Utumno, his great frotress in the North, deep under earth beneath the dark mountains where the beams of Illuin, the North-lamp, were cold and dim?'  
  
The others nodded again, and the Lady Aquiel added in her clear voice that sounded like water falling from stone:  
''He came forth to war and struck the first blow ere the Valar were prepared, and he assailed the lights of Illuin and Ormal and cast down their pillars and broke their lamps. And in the overthrow of the mighty pillars lands were broken and seas arose in tumult; and when the lamps were spilled, destroying flame was poured over the earth... and the face of Arda was marred for ever and its first beauty was never after restored.''  
  
Glorfindel gave her an approving nod, for this was a nearly flawless quote from the old books of lore he had made her study in her youth, and Elrohir beamed in pride over the wisdom of his betrothed and her easy way with well-woven words. Knowledge of ancient lore had always been highly appreciated among Elves, and few of the younger ones could call themselves lore-masters. The Lady Aquiel was one of those few.  
  
''And thus ended the Spring of Arda'', the ancient Elf finished the quote. ''The dwelling of the Valar upon Almaren was utterly destroyed, and they had no abiding place upon the face of earth. Therefore they departed from Middle-earth and went to the Land of Aman, the westernmost of all lands upon the borders of the world; for its west shores looked upon the Outer Sea encircling the Kingdom of Arda.''  
  
''So they abandoned Middle-earth, leaving it unprotected against all evil of Morgoth?'' Elladan asked in clear dismay.  
  
''They did, and as they had to learn later, this had been their gravest error'', Glorfindel said. ''Yet mighty as they may be, they are no Gods, Elladan, therefore they can err as we can; and at times they make mistakes, just as we do.''  
  
''What happened to Middle-earth, then?'' Arwen asked softly. ''For it is my understanding that at that time Yavanna had already planted her seeds in earth: what became of them?''  
  
Glorfindel leaned back in his seat, took a sip of wine from his cup and the look of his eyes turned inward - a clear sign that a lengthy tale was about to begin. The younger Elves, too, took on a more comfortable posture and were listening eagerly. Glorfindel did not seem to have taken notice of them at all... his eyes and his mind were focussed on the events of a world long gone.  
  
''In all this time, since Morgoth overthrew the lamps, the lands of Middle-earth east of the Mountains of Valonor were without light. While the lamps were shining, growth began there, which now was checked, for all was dark again. But already the oldest living things had arisen: in the Sea the great weeds, and on the earth the shadow of dark trees. And beneath the trees small things faint and silent walked, and in the valleys of the night-clad hills there were dark creatures, old and strong.  
  
In such lands and forests Oromë the Great would often hunt; for a mighty lord of the Valar he is, little less in his strength than Tulkas, though slower in wrath. He loved the lands of Middle-earth and came last to Valinor; and even after, he came at times east over the mountains.  
  
Of old he was often seen upon the hills and plains, for he is a hunter and he loves all trees; for which reason he is called Aldaron, too, the lord of forests, and loved and admired by the Silvan folk more than any of the Valar, save Yavanna herself, and Varda, tha maker of stars. And with Oromë at times Yavanna came, too, singing sorrowfully; for she was grieved at the darkness of Middle-earth and ill content that it was forsaken.1  
  
But the other Valar came seldom thither; and in the North Morgoth built his strength further and gathered his demons about him. These were the first made of his creatures: their hearts were of fire and they were clad in living darkness and had whips of flame - mighty spirits among the Maiar, the servants of the Valar they once were, drawn to Melkor's splendour in the days of his greatness and remained in that allegiance down into his darkness: the Valaraukar, the scourges of fire that in Middle-earth were called the Balrogs, demons of terror.''2  
  
Glorfindel paused to order his thoughts, and the younger Elves glared at him in grave respect, for though tall and strong in stature, he still seemed too lithe to face such an ancient power of terror. And, save Elrond himself, who was a master of ancient lore, no-one of them had known before that the Balrogs had come from such depths of time and were of such great powers.  
  
''In that time Morgoth made many monsters of divers kinds and shapes that long troubled the world and have been forgotten since then, even by the lore-masters'', Glorfindel continued; ''yet the Orcs were not made till he had looked upon the Elves; and he had made them in the mockery of the Children of Ilúvatar. His realms spread now even southward over Middle-earth and spoiled its lands and waters with the vile of his evil.  
  
Then Varda looked out from the Taniquetil upon the darkness and was moved. Therefore she took the silver dew that dripped from Silpion3 and was hoarded in Valinor, and therewith she made the stars. And for this reason she is called Tintallë, the Star-Kindler; and Elentári, Queen of Stars. She strewed the unlit skies with these bright vessels, filled with silver flame; but nigh in North, a challenge upon Morgoth, she set a crown of seven mighty stars to swing, the emblem of the Valar and the sign of Doom. Many names they have been called; but in the old days of the North both Elves and Men called them the Burning Briar; and some the Sickle of the Gods.''4  
  
Glorfindel paused again, the far-away look in his eyes bacoming focussed on the here and now once more, and he turned to the Lady Aquiel with a smile.  
''You always have been my best pupil, Lady Lalaith5; can you quote us the part about the Awakening Under the Stars, as it is written in the Quenta Silmarillion, by heart?''  
  
The gold-haired beauty laughed, true to her given name, and without a heartbeat of hesitation, she began to chant in the clair, ringing voice of Elven minstrels, and though there was no verse nor music, it sounded in the ears of the others like a song.  
  
''It is told that even as Varda ended her labours  
- and they were long -   
when first Menelmacar strode up the sky  
and the blue fire of Helluin flickered in the mists  
above the borders of the world,  
in that hour the Children of the Earth awoke,  
the Firstborn of Ilúvatar.  
By the starlit mere of Cuiviénen,  
Water of Awakening,  
they rose from the sleep of Ilúvatar;  
and while they dwelt yet silent by Cuiviénen,  
their eyes beheld first of all things the stars of heaven.  
Therefore they have ever loved the starlight,  
and have revered Varda Elentári  
above all the Valar.''6  
  
She finished and gave Glorfindel a mischievious smile.  
''Was that right, Master Glorfindel?''  
The ancient Elf laughed.  
''That was flawless, Lady Lalaith.''  
  
The Lady Aquiel's smile turned thoughtful... almost troubled.  
''And you... *you* were one of them? One of those awakening and taking in the light of Varda's stars?''  
''I *am*'', Glorfindel said; then he raised an eyebrow in mock irritation. ''You doubt my words, child?''  
  
''Never!'', the Elf-Lady hurriedly replied. '''Tis just... so hard to imagine. You, whom I have known all my life... the oldest being in Middle-earth, save the Dark Lord himself. Small wonder you are not afraid to face him...''  
  
''Nay, child'', Glorfindel shook his head in sorrow, '''tis not the reason why I fear him no more. And I am not the eldest of our Kin. I am one of the Firstborn, yes, but I am not *the* very first one who opened his eyes to the newborn starlight. And there still dwells another one in Middle-earth who awake at the very same moment as I did and thus became my sister before the face of Ilúvatar.''  
  
All the young Elves turned to him with open mouths. Finally Elrohir managed to bring out:  
''Who else...?''  
''Oh no, not tonight'', Glorfindel laughed. ''For that part, you shall have to tame your curiosity till next *Elenya*.''6  
  
Elrohir turned to his father for support, but Elrond only shrugged in defeat. He had know Glorfindel well enough to know that there was no use pressing him had he once made up his mind.  
''I believe I can guess who that very first one might be, though I am not certain'', he said. ''Yet I cannot even imagine who the other one is. Be patient, my son. The best things always come to you slowly, as they say.''  
  
''That'', said Elrohir with a dark expression on his face,'' is a saying of the Dwarves, if I am not mistaken.''  
  
''Yet it is very true, nonetheless'', his father countered. ''Restrain yourselves, all of you. Since Glorfindel is not ready to tell us more tonight, and this is his tale, we can either all go to sleep, or we can share some more wine and mayhap a few songs. It is up to you.''  
  
The younger ones exchanged glances, then they nodded in agreement, and Elladan said in the name of all:  
''Songs and wine.''  
  
''So be it'', Elrond nodded with a smile; it had been so rare in the recent years that he would spend a pleasant evening with his children - maybe, if Glorfindel's tale took long enough, they could mend some broken fences among themselves. ''Elrohir, have you brought your harp?''  
  
''Yes, Father'', the younger twin presented the instrument in question: a wonderfully crafted, silver-stringed one, made in the Golden Wood as a present of his grandparents, and bit his lower lip nervously, ''but I fear I cannot perform properly after a tale so old and so well-told. I feel so... ill-prepared.''  
  
''Well, in that case it leaves no-one but me to save the honour of our family once again'', said Elrond easily, and to the wide-eyed astonishment of his children, who had not heard him play at least for a century, he grabbed the harp from Elrohir's hand and let his strong, slender fingers glide along the strings, as if it had been only yestereve that he made music the last time.  
  
The others picked up the melody at once, and together they sang the ancient hymn of Varda, Queen of the Stars, as it had been sung among Elves through all Three Ages of Middle Earth.  
  
A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!  
Silivren penna míriel  
O menel aglar elenath,  
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!  
We still remember, we who dwell  
In this far land beneath the trees  
The starlight on the Western Seas.  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
End note:  
I know. It is mean to stop right here. But dealing with matters of lore is the easier part. For writing about Glorfindel's own experiences during the Awakening I need more time - and a lot of inspiration. (Reviews can have that effect on my muse sometimes... ) In the meantime, you still can take a look at the other stories.  
  
I want to apologize for the unusual amount of direct - or edited - quotes. I considered rewriting them, but since they are very old texts even in the context of the story, I finally abandoned the idea. You are better off with the original at any given time.  
  
1 Composed on the basis of The Lost Road, pp. 232-233  
2 Quoted with slight alterations from The Silmarillion, p. 23  
3 Called later Telperion, the White Tree of Valinor  
4 Quoted with slight alterations from The Lost Road, P. 233  
5 To the meaning of this name see ''A Heart for Falsehood Framed, Part 1''. I know, I am mean, but it is boring to explain the same things all over again.  
6 Quoted from The Silmarillion, p. 45 - originally a continuous text, I only made the line breaks to make it look more song-like.  
6 The first day of the six-day-week according to the calendar of Imladris 


	4. Chapter 2: The Coming of Elves

A TALE OF NEVER-ENDING LOVE  
THE COMPLETE STORY OF GLORFINDEL  
told by Soledad Cartwright  
  
Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Rating: PG for now, but might go higher in later chapters, for violence, character death and heavy angst stuff.  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
  
Sorry for the delay, but this part needed a lot of consideration - plus I have to work for a living every time and again. This is the disadvantage of being an adult.   
  
Anyway, now we get to witness the awakening of the Elves, and there will be a few surprises that are *not* in the canon, though to my best knowledge they don't contradict established canon facts, either. If there is anywhere in the 12 tomes of The History of Middle-earth half a footnote that tells any unimportant details differently, I'm sorry, but I still will stuck with my own interpretation. This is a work of fiction and not a scientific thesis, after all, though I try to follow the canon as well as I can.  
  
There are some lines waved in from Chapter 3 of The Silmarillion: Of the Coming of the Elves. They are integrated in the dialogues, so I won't give individually which line it is, because I don't want the footnotes be longer than the story itself - you'll find out yourself, from the style no-one can reproduce.  
  
I also placed here a few hints that will be unfolded in greater detail in later stories (if I ever come to write them, they'll be titled ''Kortirion Under the Trees'', which would be the 10th Boromir story, and ''The Trials of a Woodland King'', which will be focussing on Thranduil - unless I find a better title for it, which I greatly hope).  
  
Also, for this part I have a soundtrack suggestion. I was listening to the album ''Watermark'' of Enya while writing this part.  
  
  
CHAPTER ONE: AWAKENING UNDER THE STARS  
  
PART TWO: THE COMING OF THE ELVES  
  
The eve of Elenya1 finally arrived, and the Lady Aquiel, who was called Lalaith by the Elves of Imladris, went to the Hall of Fire to make preparations for the coming long night of storytelling. Her heart trembled with joyous anticipation, for though she had studied the lore of her people all her life, never had she had the chance to hear the tale of Awakening from someone who, in truth, was among the Fristborn to open his eyes for the newborn starlight - even though she was born in the Second Age and as a young child had the rare chance to see Gil-galad, last High King of the Noldor, with her own eyes; something that very few of her generation could say from themselves.  
  
But Aquiel Lalaith was the daughter of Aglareth,2 the sister of Gildor Inglorion, and she had been Glorfindel's student from her early childhood on. Born on the day of Yén, the Elven New Year that comes only once in a century, she was gifted by the Lady with great wisdom and an eagerness to learn, uncommon even among Elves. Her father slain in the Battle upon Dagorlad and her mother faded away from grief, Gildor became her guardian and sent her to Imladris where she would be safe and cared for.  
  
So she was brought up with Elrond's children - though they were considerably younger than her - and under the motherly care of Celebrían, and was taught not only by Glorfindel but by Elrond himself, and even by the Lady and Lord of the Golden Wood, for she often visited Lothlórien with Arwen, and she was considered part of their family.  
  
When Elrohir fell in love with her, and she found that she, too, loved him, Elrond gladly gave his blessing, even though his younger son barely reached maturity at that time. Yet they decided to wait with their vows till Aquiel finished her studies and became a Master of lore herself, for she needed to stay focussed for that, which she could not have been while nurturing children. And Elrond and Celebrían agreed with this decision, for Elrohir was, indeed, much too young for a bond that could not be broken again - and they had all the time of the world, after all.  
  
But then the shadows grew darker again, and Celebrían was waylaid upon the Redhorn Pass and captured and tortured and finally departed over Sea, not being able to find any beauty or joy in Middle-earth any more. Grief and despair filled Elrond's home, and though Elrond himself had been healed thank the love of the Prince of Mirkwood, his sons became obsessed with Orc-hunting and were far from home for years. The great feast of Yén, the feast of bonding, came and found Elrohir absent, and the long-planned wedding failed to come about.  
  
This hit Aquiel very hard, yet she was proud enough and strong enough not to show it; and she never mentioned their plans to Elrohir again, hoping that he would overcome his grief and come back to himself; for in the measure of their Kin they vere still young. When nothing changed, she spoke to Glorfindel about it, and though she kept her high spirits, at least outwards, she became strangely detached from the affairs of Elrond's house and turned to ancient lore for comfort, and she knew that her tutor was worried.  
  
She had almost given up hope that Elrond's sons would ever care for anything else but their vengeance, yet Elladan's suddenly inflamed passion for a mortal Man made her think again. If Elladan could have found his way back to life, mayhap his twin would find it, too. Mayhap now, that the family drew closer again after so many years, they shall be able to straight things out between them, her and Elrohir, she thought. For though she cheerished their long friendship, this was not the promise she had been given, and she grew tired of waiting.  
  
Approaching the Hall of Fire through the back door, carrying the wine for the evening, she heard with surprise that somebody had preceeded her. The quiet, angry voices belonged to Elrond's sons, who very cleary were in the middle of one of their rare but bitter fights. She stealthed nearer, curious, though she could guess what they were fighting about. Ever since Elladan had made his choice, his brother had been irate and hard to bear, and Aquiel was worried that things between the twins may go truly wrong this time. For though it did not happen oft, when they fought, it could be very hurtful.  
  
''I have spoken with father about your decision'', the younger twin said in a low, pain-loaded voice.  
  
''I thought you would'', Elladan replied ruefully. ''It hit him too hard to bear it alone, and with Legolas gone and Arwen distracted by her own worries, he needed someone else to share his pain.''  
  
''Small wonder'', Elrohir commented drily. ''He was devastated already by Arwen's choice, but yours...''  
  
''*What* about my choice?'' Elladan asked, his eyes cold like ice. ''Is it less honourable than Arwen's just because Boromir has not been brought up in this house? Or is he not worthy of my love because he is not of the blood of Elros? What makes Estel better than him? He is a good Man, a Man of pride and honour, who has made great sacrifices to fulfill his duty towards his land and his people, and I love him for that.''  
  
''But he does not love you'', said Elrohir, and Aquiel winced from this curelty; the last thing Elladan needed in his grief was someone reminding him that his love was unrequited.  
  
Yet, strangely, Elrond's eldest did not seem to be hurt from his brother's careless remark.  
''He does... in his own way'', he said with a shrug.  
  
''And that is enough for you to give up the grace of your life?'', Elrohir fumed. ''For a few morsels of affection you would accept the Doom of Men without a second thought? What about the promise you gave *me*? Have you not promised that we would make our choice together? That our paths would never part?''  
  
''You do not understand'', sighed Elladan, and suddenly he looked very tired. ''I did not know love back then. Yet now... I could not bear eternal life without him. I cannot carry this loss 'till the end of Arda.''  
  
This answer, it seemed, made Elrohir even more furious, but ere he could have found some really hurtful reply that he would, no doubt, deeply regret afterwards, Aquiel stepped between them, put her load down on the table and gave the younger twin a cold, hard look of disapproval.  
  
''Say naught, Elrohir, or I shall remind you of other promises given and broken.''  
  
Elrohir, surprised by her intervention, looked at her in askance.  
''I know not what you mean, Lady Lalaith.''  
  
''Truly?'' Aquiel arched a fine eyebrow and raised her left hand with the silver ring of betrothal on the index finger. ''How many times has Yén come and passed since we exchanged the rings of promise? And where have you been at those times? Is your given word of so little weight that five hundred years were not long enough for you to fulfill your oath?''  
  
Elrohir tried to answer but Aquiel silenced him again with a stern gesture.  
''Be quiet. I wish not to argue with you. I only tell you this, Elrohir Elrondion: I shall not wait for you any longer. Either you make up your mind till next Yén, or I shall end this fruitless bond and go to the Havens. For I am a daughter of Finrod's House, not your chambermaid, and I have endured your selfishness long enough.''  
  
With that, she turned sharply and left the Hall, driven with long-surpressed anger - but also filled with grim satisfaction. She had delayed this decision much too long, hoping that Elrohir would come to his senses. Now she had enough and was not willing to bear his indecision any longer.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The air still was a little tense between the members of Elrond's extended family when they gathered around the great hearth again, shortly after sunset. They sat in uncomfortable silence, for Elladan and Elrohir were still not speaking to each other, and the Lady Aquiel was cold and distant to everyone, and Arwen's heart was heavy with anguish. Elrond silently asked himself, what might have happened between them, making a decision to ask each and every one of them later - and alone.  
  
All were relieved when Glorfindel finally arrived and took his seat across Elrond's at the other end of the table. The ancient Elf took a lok around and his brows knitted slightly, noticing the tension, but he said nothing.  
  
''So, Master Glorfindel'', said Elrond, yet his smile was forced, ''now we shall learn the secrets you withheld from us last time, I hope?''  
  
''All in good time, my Lord'', answered Glorfindel slowly, his wise, ancient eyes watching the tired faces of the young Elves closely. ''I have spent the last few days in waking dreams to find my path back to the beginnings, so do not rush me, I pray you. Now. Where should I set on? Is there aught you would like to hear of, more than other things?''  
  
It was Arwen again who spoke first, for she had harboured thoughts about non-life longer than either of her brothers.  
''Do you... do you remember aught from *before*?'', she asked quietly. ''Before you opened your eyes for the newborn stars? What was it like... the Sleep of Ilúvatar?''  
  
''I have but little memories of the time before the Awakening'', Glorfindel replied thoughtfully, eyes focussing inwardly again, ''yet I believe it had to be like a deep slumber for mortals - or the time of an unborn child in the womb. For unborn we were, indeed, and I know not, nor did the others ever, how we had taken on our forms, awakening as you can see me now.''  
  
''Did you dream?'' Arwen asked. Glorfindel shook his head.  
  
''If I did, I do not remember it. There was no light in the Sleep, therefore there were no colours, no sight... only the slow murmur of the waters and darkness. It was very peaceful, and in that darkness, there was no fear yet. No-one knows, not even the Valar themselves, save perhaps Manwë, to whom the secret thoughts of Ilúvatar are revealed in all matters that concern this world, how long we had slept at the dark waters of Cuiviénen.  
  
Then, at one time - for day and night were not yet born - the murmurs of the waters changed, for the starlight touched their dark surface, and their song grew in strength and sweetness and beauty, and it woke a longing in our sleeping hearts; a longing that could not be denied. And so our eyes opened on their own, and we saw the sparkling silver flames upon the deep dark velvet of the skies; and the dark Waters of Awakening mirrored their light on their shining surface a thousand times, and it was a beauty so great that our hearts could barely bear it.  
  
'Ele! (Behold!)', cried one of us - the first one whose eyes were opened, and this was the first word ever spoken among the Firstborn; and much later, when we formed our first tongue, that was named afterwards Ilkorin by the lore-masters, from this cry of the oldest and fatherless the ancient words of 'él' and 'elen', the oldest names for the stars, came; and also 'elda' and 'elena', which mean 'of the stars'.  
  
But I am getting ahead of myself. As I said, when our eyes were opened, the first thing we saw was the beauty of the stars; and long did we lay there, admiring this great beauty, and we wept from the sheer joy of it, for at that time tears had naught to do with sorrow. Not yet.  
  
Then, after our hearts calmed down a little, we looked around and beheld each other for the first time, and our awe was great, for though of the same Kin, we still were very different in shapes and colours. Some lay alone upon their beds of grass and moss, yet others in pairs, like two peas in one pod - the way, later twins lay in the womb of their mother.  
  
As I turned to my side, I saw that I, too, was given a twin of my own, and my heart filled with great joy, for she was lovely beyond measure, her beauty second only to the newborn stars. Her long, pale hair rippled down her shoulders like falling water in the starligt; her gown was green, green as young weeds, shot with silver-like beads of dew; and her belt was of gold, shaped like a chain of flag-lilies set with the pale blue eyes of forget-me-nots3. Her eyes were clear, but dark like the sky above us, and her voice like a silver bell. And I loved my fair sister from the first moment on and called her Tindómerel, 'daughter of the twilight'; and she laughed upon seeing me, and touched my hair and gave me the name I am still wearing4.''  
  
Glorfindel trailed off, his mind still wandering the dark fields of a past long gone. The younger Elves were silent for awhile, waiting for him to continue. When he did not, the eyes turned to Elrond, and the Master of the House asked:  
  
''What happened to her? Last time you hinted that she still dwells out there somewhere.''  
  
''She does'', Glorfindel sighed, returning to the present, ''yet she wears the name I once gave her no more; and she is lost for me, for ever.''  
  
Elrond frowned; Glorfindel's tale was getting more and more confusing.  
''How come...?''  
  
''I shall come to *that* part of the tale, too'', Glorfindel promised, ''so bear with me a little longer, I pray you. 'Tis not easy for me to remember, for it had been so long ago, and to Cuiviénen there is no returning, for in the changes of the world the shapes of lands and of seas have been broken and remade; rivers have not kept their course, neither have mountains remained steadfast; and the womb of Arda that carried us during the Sleep is gone, for ever.''  
  
He paused again, and a great sadness clouded his beautiful, ageless face upon the thought that he would never see the mystical place of his birth again. For someone who had no parents, it was even more bitter than for other people.  
  
''Where had it been?'' Elladan asked quietly; never had he cared too much for ancient lore, yet the painful longing of his tutor touched his heart.  
  
Glorfindel sighed and gave him a small smile.  
''It lay far off in the east of Middle-earth, and northward'', he said, ''and it was a bay in the Inland Sea of Helcar; and that sea stood where aforetime the roots of Illuin had been before Melkor overthrew it.''  
His eyes focussed inwards again, and his face shone with the silent joy of blissful memories as he added:  
''Many waters flowed down thither from heights in the east, and the first sound that was heard by the Firstborn was the sound of water flowing, and the sound of water falling over stone.''  
  
He shook his head sadly, for though he had lived many thousands of years and heard the music of Valinor, nothing had ever sounded so beautiful for his heart as the singing and murmuring waters of Cuiviénen.  
  
''Long we dwelt in our first home, by the water under stars'', he finally continued; ''and we walked the Earth in wonder, to learn all living things that thrive upon it. And we began to make speech and to give names to all things that we saw and learnt. Ourselves we named the Quendi, 'those who speak with voices'; for as yet we had met no other living things that spoke or sang. Some of us found great liking in each other and formed a bond that could not be broken, and we spread out further and further over Middle-earth.  
  
In the beginning, the Elder Children of Ilúvatar were stronger and greater than they have since become; but not more fair, for though the beauty of the Quendi in the days of their youth was beyond all other beauty that Ilúvatar had caused to be, it has not perished, but lives in the West, and sorrow and wisdom have aided it. Every one who has ever met the Vanyar, the gold-haired Elves of the First Kind, know what I am talking about - and their fairness still shines in Middle-earth in the Lady Galadriel of the Golden Wood.  
  
Yet it was those of the Third Kind, who later were called the Teleri, who walked out along the waters, following them through the great forests eastwards of the Misty Mountains; and some even settled down under the trees and built a great city upon the hill of Amon Lanc5, as it was called later: a city of white stone but moreso of great elm trees that grew through the houses, and springs that flew along the streets, and other wonders only seen in the cities of the Blessed Realm later. There they dwelt, with birds and good beasts, and they became separate from the rest of us.  
  
Yet our life was not without fear any more. For Morgoth, the Dark Enemy, was already aware of our Awakening, and sent shadows and evil spirits to spy upon us and waylay us. So it came to pass that if any of us strayed far abroad - mostly to visit the beautiful city of Kortirion in the great woods -, alone or a few together, they would often wanish and never return; and some of us whispered that the Hunter caught them, and from that time on, we were afraid of shadows.  
  
And indeed, our most ancient songs, of which echoes are remembered still in the West, and among the Silvan folk who do not forget, tell of the shadow-shapes that walked the hills above Cuiviénien, or would pass suddenly over the stars; and of a Dark Rider upon his wild horse that pursued those that wandered to take them and devour them.  
  
Only one among us knew no fear: Iarwan, who had been the first to open his eyes and behold the starlight. And the newborn light dwelt in his dark eyes for ever, as if he would have had stars in his very eyes; and all loved him, for he was tall and slender and very beautiful with his thick brown hair and fair face; and there was a charm in his voice that could enchant trees and beasts alike. His songs held a power no-one could resist, not even our own Kin.  
  
And more than all others did Tindómerel love him, my beloved sister, she who had the might to make the rain fall and had a spell over all the flowing and falling waters of Cuiviénien; and she was called River-daughter for this. And Iarwan, too, found a liking in her, and the two of them forged a bond, stronger than any other bond that had been forged among our Kin; and Tindómerel was the first to bring forth a new life to our people, out of her own body: a daughter of great beauty, whose hair was the colour of silver starlight and whose eyes were deep emerald green like the forests; and she, too, was called Tindómerel, after her mother.  
  
Dearly did my sister love this precious child, and she brought her to Kortirion, for she was afraid of the dark beings that haunted Cuiviénien and wanted her child to grow up in safety. But Iarwan went not with them, for he could not leave the place of our birth; for he was the oldest of us and his roots in the Earth were very deep, indeed.  
  
Yet one day he felt great longing after his beloved and their child and he decided to visit them in that fair city. We begged him to stay, for at that time the Hunter was preying around our dwellings frequently, but he only laughed merrily and left anyway. We never saw him again.''  
  
There was a long silece; then the Lady Aquiel asked:  
''Had he been... taken? What happened to him?''  
  
''Little is known of a cetainty of those unhappy ones who were ensnared by Morgoth'', Glorfindel replied sadly. ''For who of the living had ever descended into the pits of Utumno, or had looked into the darkness of Morgoth's counsels? Yet this is held true by the wise of Eressëa, that all those of the Quendi who came into the hands of Morgoth ere Utumno was broken, were put there in prison, and by slow arts of cruelty and dark sorcery were corrupted and enslaved; and thus did Morgoth breed the hideous race of the Orcs, in envy and mockery of the Elves; and afterwards they became our bitterest foes.''  
  
''Is there then no truth at all in the old legends that say the Orcs were bred in earth and formed of hot mud?'', Aquiel asked. Glorfindel shook his head.  
  
''Naught that had life of its own could ever Morgoth make since his rebellion before the Beginning; so say the wise of Valinor. The life of Orcs is stolen from our own Kin; yet they became a mortal race, due to the horrors they went through in the dark pits of Utumno; and because their ties of origin were severed. And deep in their darkened hearts the Orcs loathed their Master, the maker of their misery, whom they served in fear. This may be was the vilest deed of Morgoth, and the most hateful to Ilúvatar.''  
  
The younger Elves nodded in agreement; the tale of the Orcs was a well-known one among their Kin, one that always filled their hearts with sorrow, even though the Orcs of the Third Age were far different fromt heir Elvish ancestors and had long forgotten about their origins during the uncounted generations that were born and slain since the Elder Days.  
  
Naught but monsters they had become along that endless chain of birth and death; yet the Elves still grieved their fate, even if they were forced to kill them in order to save themselves. Great hatred was now between the estranged kins, one born of the cruelty and the vile of the Enemy - for only those wo are in their deepest core very much alike could hate each other with such profound embitterment.  
  
The Orcs hated the Elves for what they had lost and could never become again: for their beauty, wisdom and immortality. The Elves hated the Orcs for what they might become, would have fate been less merciful to them. Deep was their hatred towards each other, deeper than the bottomless depths of the Sea; for it was born of fear - a fear that had rooted in their hearts ever since the Awakening.  
  
''Is it still possible.. could Elves still be crippled and corrupted enough to make them Orcs?'', Elladan asked after a while.  
  
''With the arts and skills that Sauron possesses now, it cannot be made'', Glorfindel said. ''But should he ever get the One Ring back... I fear that it would be possible. For the One was made with the dark arts that Sauron learnt while he dwelt in Morgoths mighty shadow, and much of the power that had been wrought into it was lent from Morgoth himself. Should the Ring-bearer fail, we would better cut our throats by our own hand, for it would be a fate much less cruel.''  
  
They were silent again, for a length at time. Then Elrond shifted in his seat and asked:  
''You still have not told us what became of Iarwan. Was he truly taken?''  
  
''He was'', Glorfindel sighed, ''and great was Morgoth's excitement to lay his black hands on him to torture him; for he hoped to turn him into a monster of outstanding cruelty, for he was the first, fairest and strongest of us all. Yet the Enemy had not counted with the strength of his will and with his sharp wit.  
  
Indeed, Iarwan peered into the twisted mind of Morgoth and many of the Enemy's secrets were laid open for him; and he learnt enough to escape from Utumno - and 'tis said that he was the only one who ever succeeded. Yet so dark and evil it was what he seen, that his mind could not bear it. He became as a small child, merry and innocent, yet he forgot who he was, whom he belonged to, and walked off into the wilderness without memories.''  
  
''And that was the end of him?'', Elrohir asked, disappointment clearly written upon his face.  
  
''Nay'', smiled Glorfindel, ''that was not the end of him. For the winds and the waters bore tidings to my sister wo dwelt in Kortirion still, that the oldest and fatherless fled Morgoth's dungeon, and she entrusted little Tindómerel the Quendi of that city, who were led by Ellon6, the brother of Elwë and Olwë, and she went westwards to find her beloved.  
  
And find him she did, indeed, in the great wilderness whose last remnants are called the Old Forest in these days; but his beauty was gone - his body deformed and his mind broken -, and he did not remember her or their love for each other, nor did he remember their fair little daughter, the first child ever born to our Kin. Yet my sister loved him still and remained with him, and they made a home for themselves, deep in the forest, forgotten by all, even by te Enemy.  
  
In that timeless peace Iarwan finally healed to a certain extent, and though he never remembered his true self again, much of his strength of old was revived. Small is his realm in the Old Forest, where they still dwell, yet between its borders no other lord has power over them. Iarwan has the power over the trees and my sister, whom he still calls River-daughter, for this is the only thing he could remember about her, has power over the waters, and she still can make the rain fall at will. A very simple life it is they lead, that of the Silvan folk not unlike, but at least they are undisturbed - and, I think, they are happy.''  
  
''Did you ever see her again?'' Arwen asked. Glorfindel nodded.  
  
''A few times, when I had to take a shortcut through the Old Forest, for one reason or another. She still looks as young and beautiful as in the hour when I first laid eyes upon her. But the grief over Iarwan and the hardness of her long search after him had not left her mind uneffected, either. Though fair and kind and friendly she is to all those who knock on her door, and her power seems unlimited, she does not remember, either, where she came from, who she once was; nor can she remember me and that I am her brother.''  
  
''What a cruel fate!'', Arwen murmured sadly.  
  
Glorfindel gave her a sorrowful smile.  
''Cruel for me, indeed, for those two are the only ones who awakened with me at the waters of Cuiviénien and dwell still in Middle-earth; and no-one else is there who could share my memories - yet they cannot any more. But I am grateful that they are, at least, alive and well, not turned into hateful monsters, and that naught can touch them in their own realm.''  
  
''Unless Sauron gets the One Ring back'', Elrond added gravely. ''For if he does, in the end, if all else is conquered, Iarwan will fall; Last as he was First; and the Night will come.''  
  
''True'', Glorfindel agreed, ''but then we shall not have the time to worry about him any more; for we would have fallen before him.''  
  
There was silence again; then it was the Lady Aquiel who spoke first:  
''And what became of their daughter, Tindómerel the Fair? Did she remain in the ancient city of Kortirion?''  
  
''She did'', answered Glorfindel, ''but I never saw her again. For shortly after my sister left Kortirion to go and seek out her beloved, we who remained in Cuiviénien were found by Oromë of the Valar; and we left for Valinor.  
  
And uncounted centuries later, when I returned to Middle-earth with the Exiles of the Noldor, Kortirion was in ruins and fair Tindóremel gone, and Ellon, the King of the city slain; and their young son dwelt in Doriath, under the protection of Elwë Singollo7, High King of the Teleri, until he decided to return to his own people who still dwelt in the woods, scattered around the ruins of Kortirion, and became their King.''  
  
This was something even Elrond found surprising.  
''So they still are descendants of Iarwan and Timdómerel among us?'', he asked. ''Who are they and why have we never heard of them?''  
  
''Oh but you have'', laughed Glorfindel, ''save that you know not of their ancestry; and neither do they.''  
  
''Why not?'', asked Elladan.  
  
'''Tis a heritage too heavy and too sorrowful for them to bear'', said Glorfindel. ''It would break their heart to know what has become of their noble ancestors. It is enough for them to know that they are the children of Ellon.''  
  
''And just who *are* they?'', Arwen intrigued. But Glorfindel only smiled.  
  
''That'', he said, ''is another tale for another day; one I have not yet decided to tell at all. For if I ever do, you will have to swear an oath never to tell it any one in your whole life - not even Estel'', he added, looking at Arwen.  
  
''We can promise that'', said Elrond in his daughter's stead; ''Yet I would rather you told us the tale. For it is one that should not be forgotten, even if the ones most involved are not to know it.''  
  
Glorfindel thought about it for awhile.  
''I cannot promise I would'', he finally answered, ''but I shall give it some thought. For your argument has its merits, and it would be a shame to let these great and sorrowful deeds fade into the mist of a past long gone.''  
He rose from his seat.  
''The tale was long enough for one night, I deem. We shall meet again on the next Elenya.''  
  
The others agreed and slowly walked out of the Hall of Fire. At the door, Elrond unexpectedly stopped and lay a hand upon Elrohir's arm.  
''I would have a word with you, my son, if you can spare me a few moments. For there are things we should have spoken about a long time ago.''  
  
Elrohir raised a sceptical eyebrow.  
''Have you talked to the Lady Lalaith?''  
  
But his father only shook his head.  
''Nay... and I have not talked to my own sons often enough, it seems. Otherwise they would speak to each other now, instead of simmering with hidden anger. Come now. The night is still long, and since you are my heir now, we have to talk about matters of certain importance.''  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
End note:  
Okay, I hope I've given enough hints for anyone to solve my little riddle from the last chapter. Next we're going to Valinor, but until then I'll have to take a look at the other stories, too, before anyone forgets what hey were about.   
Count on the Lady Éowyn arriving in Dunharrow, soon (in ''Frozen Flower'').  
  
  
  
  
1 The first day of the week in the calendar of Imladris. I realize that I overlooked the fact in the prelude that the Elven week has only six days, and I apologize for it; in a later time, when I'll come to correct such mistakes, I'll re-load the prelude and let them meet once in every six days, instead of seven.  
2 She is a character made up by me. I didn't want to make Aquiel to Gildor's daughter, in case there would be some details about Gildor's family; so I simply made her his niece. Of the same reason, I gave not further details about her father.  
3 Yes, I know that shortly after the Awakening Glorfindel could not have realized te flowers, but let's just assume that Elwes awakened with a certain pre-knowledge of Arda, would we? Otherwise I'd be hard-pressed to write this story at all.  
4 Glorfindel's name actually means ''the golden'', or ''gold-tressed''.  
5 The very hill where later Dol Guldur, Saurons tower was built.  
6 I found a note somewhere that Elwë and Olwë had a third brother, yet I don't seem to find his name any more. So I named him Ellon (for no apparent reason), until someone can tell me what his real name was. Since Elves have the confusing habit to wear many different names anyway, I decided to go with this one for the time being.  
7 Better known under the Sindarin name of Elu Thingol. 


	5. Chapter 3: The Light of Aman

A TALE OF NEVER-ENDING LOVE  
THE COMPLETE STORY OF GLORFINDEL  
told by Soledad Cartwright  
  
Disclaimer:  
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun.  
Fíriel belongs to Deborah and is borrowed fom her excellent story ''A Little Might Be Thought''. You all should read it.  
Only the Lady Aquiel and Tindriel belong to me.  
  
Rating: PG - 13, for violence, and implied m/m relationship (a married Elvish couple - both males - actually).  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
  
The parts of Elven lore told here are based partially on ''The Silmarillion'', partially on ''The Lost Road'', a collection of Tolkien's writings considering his own universe. There are slight alterations, though.  
  
In this chapter, events of a much later part of my other story, ''Innocence'', are referred to. I won't go into detail, in order to not spoil that story, where everything will be presented firs-hand. Let's only say that I presumed an attack on Imladris by Saruman's forces, based on Gandalf's statement in the movie that Saruman ''will come for the Ring''.  
  
The siege of Imladris lasted from the 6th to the 13th January, while the Fellowship of the Ring crossed Hollin, failed to pass the Redhorn Gate and fought the Wargs. Therefore, Glorfindel continues his tale on the evening of January 13, telling about how Oromë had finally found the Elves at Cuiviénen.  
  
Warning: because of the slightly bigger audience, a few lines from Chapter 1 will be repeated here, though I tried to alter the expressions in order to make it less boring.  
  
To Lindir, his ancestry, his relationship to Erestor and his place in Imladris see: ''Of Riddles of Doom and Paths of Love'' and ''Innocence''. More about Fíriel can be find in ''Innocence'' as well.  
  
  
CHAPTER THREE: THE LIGHT OF AMAN  
  
The siege was finally broken, the Orc-hords beaten and slain, slave a few survivors only who escaped to carry the tidings of the wrath of Elves to their masters and their kin, and in Imladris the slow and painful work of healing and re-building has begun.  
  
The last battle at the Fords of Bruinen had been brutal, and they might have been lost, despite all the power Vilya protected the valley with, had the huge and vicious Wargs not been summoned away for some other, mayhap even more evil purpose.(1)  
  
But even so, this new, much stronger and even more hideous bred of Orcs, who could endure the sunlight, very nearly had broken thorugh the defenses of Imladris. Though only four of the Elves of the valley were actually killed, there were many injured, most of them badly, for the truth was that there remained very few true warriors in Imladris: Glorfindel himself, of course, and the children of Elrond. All the others had had heir share of fighting during their long lives, but they had long turned their backs on the matters of war and led a peaceful life in the safety of the valley, caring only for lore and the seasonal work on the terraced fields and in the greenhouses - or spent their time with art and music.  
  
Now the Healing House (or Infirmary, as it was commonly called) was full with the wounded, even though only the gravest of injuries were tended here, and Fíriel, lead healer of the valley (if one left Elrond out of consideration, of course), had both her hands full of work, despite the many volunteers who came to help.  
  
Elrond himself had not rested ever since the last packs of Uruk-Hai were chased away and the valley finally freed, and now he had come to an end of his strength, for using his unique healing abilities in this manner drained him greatly, but he did not spare himself, for in many cases his rare gift was the only thing that could have saved his severely injured people. And how cold he abandon any of them for something so insignificant as his own exhaustion?  
  
Yet Fíriel saw all too well how much he had drained his strength, having known him since the day of his birth (for she was one of the very few survivors of Tol Sirion, Elrond's city of childhood that was bunt down by the maddened sons of Fëanor), and she went to him and touched his shoulder lightly and spoke:  
  
''My Lord, 'tis time for you to retreat. You have done everything you could. Those who where not already beyond healing, have been saved. Go now and rest. You need to regain your strength, for it shall be asked for very much in the upcoming days.''  
  
''What about you?'', Elrond examined the angular face of the woman, marred by very old scars and deep lines of sorrow. ''You should rest, too.''  
  
''And I shall - in the morrow'', Fíriel replied. ''Tonight I wish to watch over those who might become feverish from their wounds. 'Tis something I cannot leave in the hand of my pupils, though for they are well-learnt and eager indeed, they have no experience with battle injuries. But after sunrise all will be relieved, and then I shall go and have some sleep. I promise.''  
  
''Call me if someone should turn critical'', instructed Elrond, already on his way.  
  
''I will'', said Fíriel with a wry grin.  
  
She knew her own abilities well; and also she knew that she would never be able to achieve the same results by plain herbal lore that his Lord achieved due to the unusual gift he was given by birth.  
  
Elrond nodded, glad that at least one of his people was old and wise enough to know what really needed to be done, and retreated to the Great House to find some rest ere the night came, for he still might be needed, should the state of one of the wounded become life-threatening.  
  
In the antechamber he met Erestor, his foster son and the seneschal of his house. Not wearing his armour any more, the broken arm of the young Elf rested in a sling, but the pain that lignered in his clear, grey eyes seemed to come from deeper than his injury only.  
  
Elrond, of course, knew the reason for his anguish.  
  
''How is Lindir faring?'', the Lord of Imladris asked. Erestor sighed.  
  
''There is no change, my Lord. He is sitting in his old chamber, glaring at the naked walls and speaks not. I fear that I shall lose him.''  
  
Elrond shook his head in pained sympathy. It seemed so cruel that Erestor should lose his beloved spouse after twelve centuries of happy marriage, only because Lindir saved his life - by giving up a crucial part of himself in the process. A more crucial one, indeed, than any of them might have thought.  
  
''Does he still obey you?'', he asked, remembering an other occasion, almost two and a half thousand years ago, when Lindir had fallen in a speechless and partially unresponding state of deep shock, only able to handle when given direct instructions.  
  
Erestor nodded.  
''He does what he is told to do - nothing more. 'Tis as if he had lost his will completely. How I wish that he were stubborn and light-headed and thoughtless as always!''  
  
''Nay, he had lost more than just his will'', Elrond sighed. ''By killing another living being, even if it was an evil creature, he had lost his innocence. I fear he shall never be the same again.''  
  
''I know'', answered Erestor, swallowing hot tears of despair. ''But I would be happy to just keep him, in what state ever. Yet I fear he has already given up himself... that he would flee his body and leave me. He... he is *fading*, atar!''  
  
Elrond swallowed hard. Even in his childhood, Erestor very rarely called him 'father', and he never demanded it from the young Elf, wanting him to keep the memories of his true family that he had lost so early and in such a brutal manner. For Erestor to call him thus, it had to be a very deep shock, indeed.  
  
''If he still obeys you, then mayhap 'tis not too late'', he said encouragingly. ''Bring him to the Hall of Fire tonight. I shall ask Glorfindel to continue his tale from the Dawn of Days; hopefully, it shall catch his interest. He always loved old tales, and Glorfindel is a very good storyteller.''  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Shortly before sunset, the family of Elrond gathered in the Hall of Fire again; this time not only the Lady Aquiel joined them but Erestor, too, with his obedient but strangely detached spouse. When all the others took their seats around the small table, Erestor sat down as well, but a little further away, choosing his usual listening place: a low wooden bench in the shadow of a huge pillar. Lindir curled into a fetal position on his side, resting his head on Erestor's lap, his face hidden in the folds of the seneschal's robe.  
  
Finally Glorfindel arrived (with Erestor incapacitated through his injury and his spouse's state, a large amount of his work dropped into Glorfindel's lap), and almost literally collapsed on the seat that had been prepared for him.  
  
Elladan reached him a cup of wine and the ancient Elf accepted with a thankful nod, emptying the cup with small, slow sips.  
  
''The Lord of the Valley has asked me to set my tale forth tonight, since everyone is too exhausted to do any real work'', he then said; ''but are you not too weary to listen to old lays?''  
  
''Nay'', Arwen answered for all of them, ''for it shall gladden our hearts to hear about the light of Aman after these days of darkness.''  
  
For indeed, the ''warrior Princess of Imladris'' took her part in the defense of her home, wielding the sword with as much vigour and determination as her brothers have done. Just as her father, Awen Undómiel has pledged her heart to wisdom and lore, but she could be a fierce warrior if the need emerged.  
  
Glorfindel shot a glance at Lindir's limp form and nodded.  
  
''True; it might be the most proper tale for tonight to tell. Now, if my memory serves me well, I was telling you about the fate of Iarwain and my beloved sister, Tindómerel, whom he called the River-daughter, last time...''  
  
He watched intently whether Lindir would react to the name of the two people he had spent his childhood with, and indeed, the young minstrel raised his head for a short moment, and in his sea-hued ees there flickered a tiny sparkle of light again.  
  
''Now I shall tell you about the coming of Oromë and, if time allows, about the journey of the Eldar to the Undying Lands'', Glorfindel continued, ''For, as you all know, the Great Hunter often rode eastwards in his hunting, and on a time it chanced that he turned north by the shores of Helcar and passed under the shadows of Orocarni, the Mountains of the East...''  
  
''What was he hunting for?'', the soft voice of Lindir, muffled by the clothes of Erestor where he had buried his face, asked. ''Do the Valar need food, too?''  
  
It was a very childish question, for sure, and Lindir, who had spent centuries with studying ancient lore, tutored by Elrond and Glorfindel themselves, should have known better than ask it. Yet it seemed that he had retreated to a very early, child-like state of mind, seeking comfort in the reminder of his now-lost innocence, and, truth be told, everyone was glad that he at least spoke again.  
  
''Nay, little one'', answered Glorfindel gently, ''they need no food, and you know that. Oromë was hunting for the dark creatures the Enemy had set in the world before the making of the stars. For though most of the Valar feared to confront Melkor openly, Oromë, and even more so Yavanna, were saddened over the fate of Middle-earth, and they often come to visit it, and Oromë haunted down Morgoth's demons and Palúrien sang in the forests to remaind them the light they had once known, ere Melkor overthrew the Lamps of Valinor.''  
  
''What was he like?'', Lindir continued his inquiries in the same child-like manner, without raising his face from Erestor's lap.  
  
Glorfindel looked at Elrond in askance, and the Master of Imladris nodded encouragingly. Whatever would anchor Lindir's interest to life, he should get every help they could offer. For Elrond doubted not that should Lindir give up his life, not being able to face what he had been forced to do in order to save his beloved, Erestor would follow him to Mandos' Halls without a second thought. Lindir *was* Erestor's life; the young seneschal had long gone beyond the ability to live without him.  
  
Glorfindel thought for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice took on that soft, sing-song tone he had used many long centuries ago, when he told the same tales to Elrond's children, at a time when they were but tiny elflings, lying in their little beds and sucking on their small thumbs in adorable concentration.  
  
''Like a huntsman of great strength Oromë was like, clad in green and brown garb, his thick brown hair braided on the nape of his neck, and he carried a great bow and a quiver, full of long arrows. For a mighty Lord among the Valar he is, and though less strong than Tulkas, more deadly in his anger. A great horn he on his shoulder carried, and its sound was like rolling thunder.  
  
As a hunter of monsters and fell beasts, he delights in horses and in hounds, and his horns are loud in the friths and woods that Yavanna planted in Valinor; but he blows them not upon Middle-earth any more. Not since the fading of the Elves whom he loved...''(2)  
  
''You are getting ahead of yourself, Master Glorfindel'', the Lady Aquiel remainded him gently. ''You not even told us how he had found the Elves... the *Quendi* in the first place!''  
  
''I know'', Glorfindel laughed, ''and I would be coming to it in a moment, would you let me finsih this first.''  
  
Aquiel blushed and bowed her head in silent regret, for even for a respected young lore-master as she was, it was considered unbecoming to interrupt the teachings of her own tutor.  
  
''Forgive me...''  
  
Glorfindel smiled and dismissed her apology with an elegant wave of his hand.  
  
''Now, as I said, Oromë is very fond of horses'', he said; ''and the name of his own horse is Nahar, and this great steed is white in the sun and shining silver in the night; and as you know all well, the horses of Imladris descended from Nahar, and their kind has been protected and cheerished ever since the First Age - for their forefathers returned with the Exiles of the Noldor from the Blessed Realm.(3)''  
  
The young Elves nodded in agreement. The ancestry of Imladris' magnificent horses was a well-know tale among them. Glorfindel (the major source of their knowledge) smiled again, and continued in the same sing-song voice:  
  
''And the great horn of Oromë is called Valaróma, and its thundering sound can be heard in the woods that Yavanna brought forth in Valinor, for there Oromë would train his folk and his beasts for the pursuit of the evil creatures of Melkor...''  
  
He was forced to interrupt his tale once again, for young Tindriel, one of Fíriels healer-pupils, entered silently the Hall of Fire and whispered something into Elrond's ear. The face of the Lord became clouded and he rose, saying in a low voice to Glorfindel:  
  
''Continue without me for a while, old friend, I pray you. It seems that I am needed in the Infirmary after all.''  
  
''Should I go with you, my Lord?'', the Lady Aquiel offered, but Elrond shook his head sadly.  
  
''Nay, I think not that you could be any help, Lady Lalaith, but I thank you nevertheless. Do listen to Glorfindel with the others; it would not take me very long, I fear.'' Casting a glance at Lindir's still form, he added with a lowered voice: ''I leave you in charge here while I am gone. You are his closest kin, you might be needed.''  
  
Aquiel nodded her understanding, giving her young cousin a compassionate look, then she turned back to Glorfindel.  
  
''Now, let us hear about the coming of Oromë, Master Glorfindel!''  
  
''Oh, the impatience of youth!'', the ancient Elf laughed, but in his eyes there was deep sorrow, for all loved young Lindir and were concerned about him.  
  
Even Elladan forgot his own painful loss and came out of his self-woven cocoon of grief, which, at least was *one* useful result of the siege. A good fight had always set Elladan's mind straight, and he *was* a compassionate person - a lot more so than any average Elf.  
  
''Now, were have I been before so rudely interrupted?'', asked Glorfindel playfully, noticing the slight, pained smile on Erestor's pale face with some relief. ''Ah yes. Oromë. Well, he was coming under the shadows of the Orocarni, as I said, for he was hunting once again; but this time he came alone, for Yavanna remained back in Palisor.  
  
As he was riding alongside the mountains, on a sudden Nahar set up a great neighing, and stood still. And Oromë wondered and sat silent, and it seemed to him that in the quiet of the land under the stars he heard afar off many voices singing...''  
  
''Was it then that he had found our forefathers?'', Erestor asked quietly.  
He knew the tale already, of course, all of them knew, but he wanted to keep Lindir's fading interest awake.  
  
''It was'', Glorfindel nodded, ''and I was told later in Valinor that looking upon the Quendi, Oromë was filled with love and wonder, for our coming was not in the Music of the Ainur but hidden in the secret thought of Ilúvatar. Beings sudden and marvellous and unforeseen we were in his eyes; for so it shall ever be with the Valar. From without the world, though all things may be forethought in music or foreshown in vision from afar, to those who enter verily into Eä each in its time shall be met at unawares as something new and unforetold.''(4)  
  
''I understand this not!'', Elrohir voiced the bewilderment of all; ''do the Valar not know what the thoughts of Ilúvatar intended for Eä?''  
  
''The Valar are the offspring of Ilúvatar's thoughts, and they were with Ilúvatar, before aught else was made'', Glorfindel answered, ''yet though they took part in the forming of Arda, they, too, had been called to life by Ilúvatar and are therefore part of the Creation and no gods. They are not above of making mistakes and straying from the purpose of Ilúvatar, albeit with good intent. The Wise say, indeed, that maybe if they had decided against summoning the Quendi to Valinor, the world had been a fairer place and the Eldar a happier folk.''(5)  
  
''I believe not that such a difference would have kept Melkor from turning evil'', the Lady Aquiel commented with a shrug.  
  
''Nor do I'', Glorfindel agreed, ''Yet many of the Noldor thought that had our people remained in Middle-earth and learnt and grown strong, the Enemy would have been restrained and many things that once had been beautiful, preserved.''  
  
''Is this what *you* think, too?'', Aquiel asked.  
  
''These are the thoughts I shared once'', Glorfindel said, ''or else I would not have followed te Exiles back here. But I have changed more since my first death than you can imagine. So, while I still believe that the Valar erred in summoning us to Aman, I also know that the fate of the world cannot, in the end, be contrary to Ilúvatar's design.''  
  
''And yet 'tis said that the Quendi were at first unwilling to hearken to the summons'', Arwen said. ''Is this true?''  
  
''It is'', Glorfindel nodded. ''For many of us were filled with dread at Oromë's coming, and this was the doing of Melkor. For by afterknowledge the Wise declare that Melkor, ever watchful, was first aware of the awakening of the Quendi, and for he hated and feared the ridings of Oromë, either he sent his dark servants as riders, or he set lying whispers abroad, for the purpose that we should shun Oromë, if we ever should meet him.''(6)  
  
''The fact that many of you were captured and dragged to the back pits of Utumno might have given those whispers quite some weight'', Elladan remarked drily.  
  
''It did'', Glorfindel admitted. ''Thus it was then, that when Nahar neighed and Oromë, indeed, came among us, many of our people hid themselves, and some fled and were lost. But those that had courage, and stayed, understood very swiftly that the Great Reader was no shape of darkness; for the light of Aman was in his face, and all the noblest of us were drawn towards it.''  
  
''Did *you* stay?'', Lindir asked, his face still buried in Erestor's clothes.  
Glorfindel shook his head with a sad smile.  
  
''Nay, little one, I did not. Too deep the fear, caused by Iarwain's fate, run in my blood; and I remembered the grief of my beloved sister and the pain over her loss. So I listened not to the encouraging words of my friend, Imin(7), who was later called Inwë by our kin, and ran away in horror and hid behind a waterfall. But others had more courage in their hearts: Inwë, Finwë and Elwë above all the others, and they came forth and dared to speak to Oromë, and their voices were sweet in his ears, or so I was told later.''  
  
''And he chose these three Kings and took them to Aman with him as the emissaries of all Eldar'', Lindir quoted the Ages-old teaching, sounding not only child-like but very sleepy now, too.  
  
''Oh, no'', said Glorfundel with a quiet laughter, ''*that* happened much, much later. First, he rode swiftly back over land and sea to Valinor, filled with the thought of the beauty of Elves, and he brought the tidings of Valmar. But'', he added with a mischievous smile, ''this is an other tale for an other night.''  
  
The younger Elves protested, reminding him his promise that he would tell them the tale of the journey of the Eldar, too, but Glorfindel stayed adamant.  
  
''You have just come back from battle'', he said, ''and even those of you who have not, are in sore need of some rest. And so am I, to be honest. Now, I promise you to be here tomorrow evening and continue when we all have recovered a little. For what comes next is a long tale, indeed, and not known to many in Middle-earth, for it was told me by Fui Nienna(8) herself while I dwelt in the Halls of Mandos.''  
  
Still murring slightly, the younger Elves accepted, and one by one they left the Hall of Fire, til only Elladan, Erestor and Lindir remained, the latter already fallen asleep on the lap of his spouse.  
  
Elladan crossed the Hall and leaned against the pillar next to the troubled couple.  
''He seems to recover'', he said in a low voice, meaning Lindir.  
  
Erestor sighed.  
''I cannot be sure of that. He is broken, Elladan, and I know not if there is aught on Eartrh that can heal him.''  
  
''Not even your love?'', Elladan asked gently. Erestor gave him a rueful smile.  
  
''I am the reason he is in this wretched state. He saved *me* by slaying that Orc. He had never even swatted a fly before, you know. I know not how he can recover from this. *If* he can recover at all.''  
  
''Had you been slain in battle, that would have killed him even more swiftly'', Elladan pointed out the obvious. ''He could never live without you.''  
  
''Nor could I without him'', Erestor murmured. ''How can you bear it, Elladan?''  
  
''Bear what?''  
  
''You are bound to a mortal. One day, you shall lose him - soon, as we count time. How will you go on without him?''  
  
''I am only Half-Elven, you know'', Elladan said with a sorrowful smile; ''I have a choice, like all my kind. And I have Chosen.''  
  
''That I have heard'', Erestor nodded, stroking the long, pale gold hair of his spouse gently, ''but you still have thrice his lifetime before you. *And* he has left you.''  
  
''That is not true!''  
  
''I know: you can feel his thoughts through the bond; yet he is not *here* now. He might never come back to you. How can you bear it?''  
  
'''Tis hard'', Elladan admitted; ''but what other choice do I have?''  
  
''True'', Erestor remained silent for a moment, caressing Lindir's silken tresses lovingly; then he looked up again, his eyes haunted. ''Do you believe that in the Blessed Realm there could be found healing for him? That I should depart with him over the Sea, just as the Lady Celebrían did, seeking out help there?''  
  
Elladan gave no immediate answer.  
  
''I cannot say'', he finally said; ''for that way now is closed for me, for ever. When *my* time comes, I shall leave the house of my soul and go wherever mortal Men go when they die.''  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
END NOTE:  
Well, this did not exactly turn out as I planned, but it is some headway nevertheless.  
Below some footnotes for the lore-masters among us.  
Happy nitpicking!   
  
(1) You all know where they went, I presume. No? Well, then check out ''Of Snow and Stone and Wolves''!   
(2) Quoted loosely after ''The Lost Road'', p. 226, with small supplements inserted from ''The Silmarillion''.  
(3) A ''fact'', made up completely by me. At least I've never seen anything in this matter, but if anyone else has, I'm always ready to process new information.  
(4) Quoted loosely from ''The Silmarillion'', p. 46  
(5) See: ''The Book of Lost Tales'', I.117  
(6) See: ''The Silmarillion'', p. 46  
(7) Here I deliberately contradict ''The War of the Jewels'', presuming that Inwë, indeed, was one of the very Firstborn. In my interpretation Elwë, Olwë and Elmö are considered brothers because they awakened together - it was the same process for the Firsborn as a birth of triplets. But remember, please, this is only my take on the facts, and when someone has the urge to hold all the different (and sometimes contradictional) theories in the HoME-books equally canonical, well, that is their good right. I do not.  
(8) One of the Valier, Lady of pity and mourning; the sister of Mandos and Lórien. Numbered among the Aratar (the ''Exalted''), the eight Valar of greatest power. 


End file.
